Unapologetic
by Iram
Summary: To protect life, one must learn to face Death and all his friends without regret.
1. Inescapable

_STANDARD DISCLAIMERS APPLY_

**AN:** Maybe it's a oneshot; maybe there's more to this: I won't make any promises. Whatever this is, it was unexpected and didn't fit in with anything I'm working on. It felt like fanfiction. It felt like Kaoru and Kenshin all over again. It felt like something I wanted to bring to the table – a.k.a this site – because so many of you have been so supportive and there have been requests and I couldn't help myself. I know this isn't 180º ST&T, but I hope there's something worth appreciating here, all the same.

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**Unapologetic**

_by Anna Iram_

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**Chapter 1: Inescapable**

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Am I where I'm supposed to be? I don't really know. But I keep staring at the doorknob, thinking if I could only turn it, if I could put the key in the lock and just walk out, run out, leave the gate swinging open behind me while I make my great escape, then maybe I'll have it all figured out.

Except, once reality sinks in, all running away means is that I'm in my pajamas, legs bare, not a dime in my wallet, out in the cold, in the dark with nowhere to go and no one to turn to. I figure that's what happens when you decide to leave your life behind; there's no thereafter worth speaking of if the road leads to standing barefoot under a streetlamp, I guess. Doesn't exactly sound like living the dream, does it?

So, no doubt the imagined getaway begs the question: why do I want to not be here? Why do I want to smell the night on my skin? Why do I want to feel cool gravel beneath my bare feet? Actually, that's three questions. Apparently, my dilemma might just be of the threefold variety. Not that that explains anything.

The truth: I'm not happy. I get it, no one is ever happy for long – it comes and goes like the tide and that's all there is to it, it's the freaking natural flow or something – but if I can't remember the last time I smiled a genuine smile, then I'm thinking that's at the very least cause for concern. In other words, I'm starting to worry.

Do I need help? Should I go see an analyst to talk out my anxiousness? It has crossed my mind, the thought of telling a stranger that I worry about my emotional health. There's a problem and I would very much like to fix it. The thing is, I'm not the source of my own distress and unless I win the lottery I can't quite master the situation. Money is my nemesis, not the depression I refuse to sink into. Personally, I wish money was a friend of mine, as opposed to trouble. Now _that_ guy, he just will not leave me to my own devices. No sir-ee, trouble always has my back.

"Kaoru, was that your ex-boyfriend driving you home? Isn't he married now? What were you doing out with him at this ungodly hour?"

See what I mean? My roommate is right to ask me all of the above, because she's a good friend with a good heart and a good head on her shoulders. Too bad I don't have one single good answer for her. Boy, am I glad she's the one being all inquisitive and tetchy at 4 AM and not my dad! Because I cannot tell a lie and… guess what, everyone? I just made a mistake, enjoyed it and, if I can have it my way, I'll enjoy making it all over again. I'm not as good a girl as I used to be, apparently.

"Well, are you or _aren't_ you going to share with the class?" Misao asks, her hands on her hips, her big green eyes scanning me for at-the-ready deceitfulness like airport security searching for hidden weapons. "Just what did you do, Kamiya Kaoru?"

Funny, that's the exact phrasing I kept using on the ride over. Of course, it was just my conscience nagging me; there was never an actual vocalization of the words, not up until just now, not until she dared to speak them aloud. Part of me is glad she's brave enough for the both of us, my darling best friend. Part of me wishes against all hope that she hadn't waited up for me. She's not going to like it. Hell, I don't like it. I don't want to say it, don't want to think it, don't want to believe it…but I kind of like that I did it. I kind of don't like myself very much right now, for obvious reasons.

"Kaoru…"

"I slept with him. I slept with Kenshin."

Okay, now I want to throw up. Now my latest bank statement is not my only problem. I said it and I can't take the words back. I did it – did _him_, if we're going for blunt here – and I can't really undo it – undo _him_ – can I? Then again, I've always had three major unsolvable predicaments circling me and one of them has always, since as far back as I can remember, had a name. I moaned that name several times tonight – this morning? – and I definitely wasn't supposed to. It felt good – great, wonderful, _amazing_ – though. It always did in the past, so no surprise there.

"No, honey, don't cry. It's okay, we'll figure this out, I promise."

Oh, jeez, I'm crying? I'm standing in the kitchen, barefoot, wearing my silly Tinkerbell oversized tee and boxer shorts, bawling my little heart out. Come to think of it, Tinkerbell kind of looks like a slut. Do I look that way to Misao now too, I wonder? Am I slut now? Is this who I'm supposed to be, the girl that gets around with another woman's man? Was this my fate all along? Am I, in life, where I'm supposed to be? Whatever the answer, this moment, this breakdown it hardly seems fair. And yet, I welcome it because, if I can't cry over this, if no part of me can accept that there's something wrong with this picture, then I'm toast; forget the shrink, bring in the nice men with the white coat, stick me in a padded room and toss away the key already.

"I didn't know you were still in love with him. You… you do love him, don't you?"

No, Misao, you're right to hesitate; I fucked him 'just cuz'. Great, now she's made me cry harder. No, scratch that, the flood's on me, I was being sarcastic and I though the wrong thing. I wish it _were_ that easy, that I had gone to bed with him because we had both felt like it at the time and nothing more. But it's not and it's so damn obvious that I do, that I always have, that I probably, to my immense misfortune, always fucking will. Loving Kenshin Himura is surely the worst fate that can befall any woman – I'm speaking on behalf of his wife and myself here. His wife… God, his wife!

I need to sit down. I need a drink. Or, better yet, I need a time machine. But, screw it, I don't want to take it back! I don't want to smell the lonely night on my skin; I want to smell like him. I want to wake up in a few hours and breathe in the scent that will never cling to my bed sheets – who cares, though? It's in my hair and clogging my every pore and that's all that matters right now, all that soothes me.

"…Am I having a nightmare?"

"No, Kaoru, not even close. I'm sorry."

When did I sit down? I think Misao sat me down. I see she's making tea. I really do believe she's sorry. I'm not, though, not entirely. That doesn't mean it doesn't hurt; it just means I'm a bad person and I deserve it. At this point, I deserve every curveball that comes my way. Hopefully, one will hit me so hard it'll knock some sense back into me.

"Do you… Do you want to talk about it?" she asks me. She's tiptoeing around me and it sucks.

"No," I hear myself reply. My voice sounds strange. Broken, I believe, is the word I'm looking for. "I want to go to sleep, that's all."

"That sounds like a good idea. You should get some rest."

Well, on the upside, I've stopped with the crying. On the flip side, Misao is being so unlike herself – calm, composed and laconic are adjectives I would have never in a million years used to describe her if this incident had not occurred – she's making me nauseous again. This time, I don't think I can hold it in. This time, I do run, just not out of the house, not out into the empty street like I had fantasized as soon as she confronted me when I came in through the back door. This time, I'm headed for the bathroom, I'm gripping onto the toilet bowl and I'm losing my dinner, my lunch, my breakfast. I'm losing myself, but I can't seem to regret it. Any of it. I refuse to apologize for loving him, even if it kills me. Incidentally, I'm pretty sure it will.

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_**AN#2: **__Thank you for taking the time to read this. Please, if you feel up to it, review._

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	2. The one I am not

_STANDARD DISCLAIMERS APPLY_

**AN:** Uh… Nagging ideas need to be played out, right?

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**Unapologetic**

_by Anna Iram_

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**Chapter 2: The one I am not**

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I am not that girl, the one turning heads at a benefit gala. He married that girl; I was bested by her looks, her charm, her way of life.

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"I want to help you," he had said, like I was some sort of charity case. Clearly, this was how it had all started and not at all how he won me over. I can take care of myself, just fine, thanks. Pity is not a turn on for me. The fact that he looked at me in _that _way – as if I was something fragile and small and fast-fading – only made me scramble out of his car as if my life depended on it. In a way, it sort of did.

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I am not that woman, the one blushing under her veil, perfectly at ease in a pouffy white dress. He exchanged vows with that woman; I was there as a mourning witness to the joyous occasion – nothing more, nothing less.

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"If you think I haven't noticed, haven't seen it, haven't seen _you_, you're sorely mistaken Kaoru!" he had yelled, right after coaxing me back into the air conditioning and leather interior in vain. He needn't have yelled, though. Of course I knew me and my trivial little troubles would not go by overlooked; I had dared to hope, true, but I hadn't exactly let myself believe I'd get away with it.

The truth is, was and will most likely continue to be that I've always been in the background and, while insignificant to some, my presence has never once gone unnoticed, he's always kept tabs on this girl, the one that isn't, wasn't and will most likely continue to not be his. Just thinking about it….it gets me every time. He always gets under my skin and it drives me mad.

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I am not the one he chose, the one he wakes up to every morning. Once upon a time, I dreamed I would be that lucky; the thing is, luck has never been on my side.

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"This doesn't concern you, Kenshin!" I had yelled right back, because, you know, he was always able to get a rise out of me. Well, to be fair, pretty much anyone can do that; my temper is short and my manner curt. Seriously, you won't like me when I'm angry…

"Of course it concerns me! If it's about you, then it sure as hell concerns me! Now, get back in the car and hear me the fuck out already!"

What is not, on the other hand, fairly easy is making Kenshin Himura lose his cool. Personally, I have a knack for it, but I have some theories on that, some that should probably be left unvisited and unrevised.

In any case, there we were, both out in the open, stars twinkling overhead, our resentment getting the better of us both. Hey, I have no illusions, I understand that what's between us isn't clean and pure and storybook perfect. It shouldn't have been love – he's taken – and it shouldn't have been war – we claimed to love each other once – but both elements were present and accounted for. Ultimately, it's what we're good at; ruining each other's chances at happiness because we can't be together but we refuse to sever all ties. We're fools, he and I, and, what's worse: we make no apologies for it.

"Why can't you just leave me alone?! Why can't you just go and forget me and, I don't know, get a dog or something?!" I was livid and hurt and tired and basically feeling about the same way I always do when he's around. "I'm not your pet, Kenshin! You don't have to feed me, make me take my shots and indulge me with an occasional belly rub. You're not responsible for me and you most certainly do not own me, so stop trying to help me!"

I was willing to go on, make the tirade longer, let my voice get louder, but I looked at him and he was shaking and something in him just made me pause. Was he…? He was, wasn't he? That's what made me get back in the car, wasn't it? Oh, crap.

"You're sick," he whispered. So harshly, so forlornly…so certain that I was going someplace he could not follow.

I don't know how I didn't figure it out until now, but the man was on the verge of tears then. Also, he had said the words I didn't want to hear. That combination was more than effective; my ugly anger left me and my feet took me back into his hybrid. I was subdued.

It wasn't that he won me over again in that moment, not even close. But, there was something so very final in the horrible thing he had dared to say and he took so long to compose himself and get back behind the steering wheel that, truly, there was a shift in our relationship for the umpteenth time. For my part, I just kept staring at the open car door, quietly waiting for him to join me, knowing that he had started something. Oh yeah, I stand by it: _he_ started it!

"I'm not taking you home," he had said when he'd climbed back in. His hands, as I recall, were gripping the steering wheel so tight I had fleetingly wondered how it managed to not break under such pressure.

"I know," I had responded, resigned to my fate and determined to harbor no regrets.

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I am not seventeen and carefree. I am not the perfect picture of health and beauty. The bags under my eyes and my losing battle with the scale by the sink are symptoms I can no longer hide.

As I stare at myself in the mirror I can't help but take some pride in the disheveled state of my hair and pajamas. Sleep is not what made them rumpled. I just wish my mouth still tasted like him, not vomit. On that note, I need to stop by the store tomorrow and buy some mouthwash. Sadly, we're all out.

There's a knock at the door and Misao's muffled voice follows it up, asking, "Are you okay in there?" and it's funny for some reason. Probably because I'm not and he doesn't live with me but he was the one to notice it first, not her. He's always the one, though, so I shouldn't be surprised. He knows me like no one else knows me. He kisses me like no one else has ever kissed me. He's the one who will take it hardest when I go.

Splayed across my chest, Tinkerbell gives my reflection a conspiratorial smile. I return it. We tramps, we gotta stick together.

"Good," I hear myself say, satisfaction coloring my voice. I'm glad he'll be sad, that he'll miss me. I'm glad he'll know what it's like to lose what you can't have too. I shouldn't be, I know, but I am.

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_**AN#2: **__Thank you for taking the time to read this. Please, if you feel up to it, review._

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_Reviewer responses:_

**To miniwoo: **Well, here's your follow up – as long as you don't find it to be a follow 'down', that is. Work with the 'original' 180º ST&T goes slow and I don't have a literary agent. Really, all I have is unbridled hope and sheer tenacity; if those two things help me get published one day, I'll be sure to let you know. Thank you for leaving a comment and for being a fan of one of the stories dearest to my heart.

**To talkstoangels77:** Somehow I doubt this second installment could sate anyone's curiosity, but at the very least I hope it was interesting. Thanks for reading and reviewing.

**To Dea Mariella: **I know, I know, the K&K affair scenario has been done to death, but what can you do when the plot bunnies attack, right? Chaos is what I'm going for here and I'm glad that you found Kaoru's mindset realistic. By the way, it's good to see your name on the reviewers block – it's been a while hasn't it? Take care, Dea.

**To anonymous: **Well, I suppose Kenshin had to marry someone else in order to spice up this story. Then again, that's just a theory…

**To waiting for 180º ST&T: **I'm sorry, but I don't plan to continue with that story, at least not in the realm of fanfiction. I am, however, turning it into an original work of fiction and taking my sweet time doing it – feel free to wag your finger at my for my slowpoke ways. Thank you, though, for being so loyal and for caring as much for a story that I too love wholeheartedly.


	3. My melting clock

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STANDARD DISCLAIMERS APPLY

**AN:** So there's more to this than I originally thought. Huh. Oh, well, here goes everything…

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**Unapologetic**

_by Anna Iram_

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**Chapter 3: My melting clock**

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It was winter, I was seventeen and every single one of my friends would tell me to 'stop dreaming' and to 'get real'. By real, they meant date some immature boy in one of my classes who wanted to get laid before prom. By dreaming, I meant to distance myself from horny teenage guys who laughed their socks off during health class. It was a vicious circle of sorts, I'm aware.

So my friends talked and I didn't listen. I aspired to more than what had been, thus far, proffered and they didn't care. My friends and I agreed to disagree, though it was not a quiet nor was it a peaceful truce. We didn't buy into the same things and we all thought we were right, which made for loud yet well-intentioned arguments that led absolutely nowhere. Then, he came along.

The air had seemed unseasonably warm, but there was a good explanation for that: I was wearing one of the thickest coats I'd owned and I was so mad at my cousin, Sanosuke, that I could actually feel my temperature rising. As if it wasn't bad enough that he had stood me up – again! – my day had consistently managed to suck ever since the alarm clock had gone off and it hadn't shown any signs of improvement whatsoever. Crud.

Standing in front of a generic store in what could be loosely considered the wrong side of town, I did the only thing I could think of to quell my nerves: I retrieved a pack of cigarettes from one of my coat pockets and continued to simmer quietly while having a smoke. Frankly, I knew it was stupid to think that a Virginia Slim was going to brighten my afternoon, but I was a teenager and had no clue that, looking back, I would wonder whether, to the passersby, I had looked like a total poser or not.

"Excuse me, miss, do you have the time?"

Parents teach us not to talk to strangers, but when I first laid eyes on Kenshin Himura, he didn't look dangerous at all – kind of cute was more like it – so I figured there would be no harm in answering his question. Or getting his number, for that matter.

"It's four o'clock," I'd replied without looking down at my wristwatch. I had been keeping track of time just so I could throw a spectacular fit when Sano finally pulled up.

"Thanks," he'd said. He didn't leave, though, to my immense pleasure. "Got any more of those?" he'd asked, pointing at the cigarette caught between my fingers.

If my memory doesn't fail me, I flashed him a sly grin and made a show of taking my smokes out of my pocket. I thought it would be totally sexy to light up a cigarette for him, as if the act itself would magically turn me into some sort of femme fatale and complete erase from the guy's mind that there was a bubblegum pink beanie on my head. Boy, was I an idiot. Especially since it just so happened that, instead of taking out one cigarette, he went right on ahead and grabbed the whole pack and stowed it away where I would never reach; there was just no way I was going to stick my hand in some stranger's pocket, cute or not.

"Hey!"

"You'll thank me one day," he'd said. He'd meant it too.

"Give me back my cigarettes, you asshole!" I had yelled at him, but all he did was laugh. "Real men don't smoke Virginia Slims! It's a woman thing!"

"It's a cancer thing," he had rectified in that patronizing tone of his that always cuts me to the quick, "you're just too young to know better."

I remember reaching for him and holding on to nothing but air, his lapels a few inches too far from my greedy fingertips. "Hand them over, you creep!" I had continued to rant and I just know I would have gone on forever if it hadn't been for Sanosuke honking his car horn to signal his arrival in that one critical moment. All it took was that small distraction, for me to turn around one second to look behind me, for Kenshin – the charitable thief – to slip away.

It cannot be denied that he's been trying to save me since day one; that doesn't mean he's harmless.

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There's a word for it, but I don't feel comfortable using it. Actually, there's nothing comfortable about where I'm at right now. The fact that Misao, flaky ingénue that she is, waits in patient silence for the other shoe to drop, it makes my skin crawl. I guess the boyfriend has rubbed off on her more than I had initially thought.

"I won't push you because I sincerely doubt I'll get anything out of you if I do," she says, her petite frame leaning against the doorjamb of my bedroom. "When you're ready to tell me what's wrong, I'll be right here for you. You know that, right? That I'm always here?"

Curses, foiled again. There's an explanation she's looking for, a correct answer to her questions and it's not what she thinks it is. There's a word for it and it has nothing to do with me feeling like a whore or her being a wonderful BFF. And, color me paranoid, but I suspect that deep down she knows that there's more to tonight – this morning, if we're going by the fact that the sun will be up soon – than me doing something incredibly stupid because Kenshin spontaneously decided to take me for a ride, no pun intended.

Sadly, I think the time has come to let her know what she doesn't want to hear. Because, seriously, looking at her now, I'm beginning to realize how silly it was of me to even consider that she hasn't noticed that I haven't been myself for a while now. Sleeping with the enemy, hell, that's just the icing on the cake and, fuck me, she's aware that there's a cake.

"I know," I whisper, my head bowed, my brow creased into premature wrinkle lines. "I know, I swear."

If I could, I would gladly let her continue to delude herself into thinking that I just crawled into bed after puking my guts out because the frosting upset my stomach, not the cake itself. But, alas, there's a cake and there are certainly no birthday candles on it. She knows this, so why doesn't she just act like her regular self and not some carbon copy of that uptight prick she's been seeing for the past two years? Why is Misao – fearless, impulsive, wily Misao – so afraid of a confrontation? Why am I?

Great, now I can feel the stupid sting of stupid tears in my eyes. Stop being so stupid, Kaoru and fucking get on with it already! Tell her! Tell her now! Tell her how stupid it is that she's asking the wrong questions over and over! Tell her that she doesn't have enough time to keep on getting it backwards!

"But what if I'm not? What if I'm not always _here_?" I ask her and I can hear it, the desperation, the urgency, a monster coiled tight in my belly clawing its way out. Can she hear it too, I wonder? Can she help me?

She hesitates but a second before clearing the doorway and flouncing to my side. "What do you mean?" she asks of me, taking a seat on the mattress, her steady hands reaching out for my trembling ones.

"I mean," I begin, then pause to lick my dry lips, gather my courage. It takes me a minute, but I tell myself I've got it. I am in control. "I mean that, sometimes, it's like…like I'm disappearing, or something. It's like I'm losing pieces of myself and… and I'm not going to be able to stay here." I look down at our hands and it gets a little harder to breathe. "I _can't_ stay, Misao," I tell her. My voice quivers. So sue me, but I can't look her in the eye, even if it is, for the first time in weeks, the God's honest truth that's coming out of my mouth.

"Of course you can stay!" she exclaims and her grip on my hands tightens. "You're talking crazy, Kaoru! Alright, you made a mistake and let yourself get caught up in the moment and, hey, where there once was fire, right? That doesn't mean you have to run away or something. You just… you need to sleep on it, okay? After you get some rest, I promise – cross my heart, hope to die – that things won't seem half as bad. You'll look in the mirror in a couple of hours and it will still be you, no missing pieces or weird stuff like that, just plain old grumpy, frumpy Kaoru Kamiya."

I'm looking at her – really looking at her – and in this moment, I feel blessed. She talks with optimism and kindness, but her large green eyes are saying something else, something darker, pleading with me to be equally gentle with her. She says more with her hands and their vice-like grip than her voice. Misao Makimachi _wants_ me to lie to her, so I will. She is too precious to me.

For her I force on a strained smile and a veneer of false hope. For her, I say, "Yeah, I just need to sleep, I guess," and fake a yawn and completely dismiss my original idea of being honest to the point of no return. For her, I'll pretend I have all the time in the world to sort out my crumbling life.

"That's the spirit!" she cheers, letting go of my hands. Then, like a good mother hen, she tucks me in, plants a kiss on my forehead and calls it a night. "See you later, alligator," she singsongs before turning out the light. I catch a flicker of gratitude on her mousy face that fades into black along with the rest of my room once she flips the switch.

"After a while, crocodile," I respond in kind, humoring her for her sake as well as mine. Because we're both scared shitless here, but we're too stubborn to do anything except fake it. God I hope I black out before the sun comes out of hiding. I'm so tired of keeping secrets.

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"Why did you steal my cigarettes from me if you don't smoke?" I had asked him when we'd met again, this time under different circumstances.

He had shrugged and said, "Because those things will kill you and I didn't want you to die."

Back then, I was beginning to pick up on the fact that he rarely looked at me when he spoke. He seemed more comfortable somehow with his hands in his pockets and his eyes somewhere on the horizon, fixed on nothing at all or, maybe, on something painstakingly beautiful that I just couldn't see – beauty _is_ in the eye of the beholder, after all.

"Yeah, but you didn't know me. Why would it matter to you if some stranger lived or died?"

"Every life counts. It doesn't matter whose it is, life is too precious to let it go to waste."

He was such a mystery, that Kenshin Himura. He was so different from the boys I knew. He was older than me and, by the way he expressed himself, I figured smarter too. At the time, I thought I was falling in love with him, but the truth is I was just another teenage girl looking up to a cooler guy. Love came much after that.

In the beginning, I was too awestruck by his rich scarlet hair and his smooth voice, too busy admiring him to love him. He told me as much, once. It stung. Then he said that it was okay, that he could wait. I've always wondered why he said that, why he chose to stick around while I struggled to catch up with him. In the end, I fell behind anyway, so why did he even bother? Age _is_ a number and he gave me hope that wasn't his to give. What a jerk. What a loveable jerk, that Kenshin.

Did he ever have to wait for _her_? Or was she always ready? Why wasn't I ready then? Why didn't I run faster? Why wasn't I ever enough?

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The sun has risen. I am not asleep. I am thinking of him, of his fingers tangled in my hair. I am thinking of the things he whispered to me last night, in bed. I am thinking that it's just so sad that he kept so much from me. I'm thinking that it's a shame that it's taken him this long to come clean.

I turn on my side and emptily stare at the clock on my bedside table. It blinks at me in electric spurts of blue, informing me of the early hour, but I don't care what time it is. I'm beyond time now. I'm beyond many things now. I'm beyond Kenshin's reach, but I don't think he knows it or cares. I think he'll try to save me. I think he'll fail.

"I'm sorry," I whisper into my pillow. It's the only time I'll ever say it.

It's six o'clock. The clock blinks again. The moment is gone. It's six o' one and this is me, not apologizing for a thing. I won't apologize for admiring-not-loving him, then loving him, then letting him go, then letting him back in. I will not regret the things I chose to do in the little time I was given. I will not regret spreading my legs for him.

"Life's a bitch," I passively inform my room. It does not agree or disagree but I draw some comfort from the fact that the fairy printed on my oversized shirt can never wipe the smile off her face. I'm imagining that she, like me, can appreciate a good cosmic joke.

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_**AN#2: **__Thank you for taking the time to read this. Please, if you feel up to it, review._

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_Reviewer responses:_

**To poems2songs: **Yes, this is definitely a complicated situation slowly unraveling. Thank you for reading and reviewing. Be on the lookout for more updates to come!

**To Dea Mariella: **Well, one thing's for sure: the plot bunnies are certainly after my blood! Oh well, who am I to complain as long as inspiration never runs dry?

I have to say, the vignette-style has been wooing me for a while. I don't know, I think there's something charming about snippets and I've developed a greater appreciation for them. I think they suit the 'raw' tone of this particular story.

Actually, I'm not that big a fan of musicals – The Phantom of the Opera is my all-time favorite, though – so it would be a rare thing for one to inspire much of anything that I write. Still, it's possible that, on a subconscious level, something 'Wicked' struck a chord in me and stuck – kind of hard not to have heard any of the songs unless you've been living under a rock for the past two years. And, I must say, by relating the plot of The Last Five Years in your last review, you've got me itching to see it – just like I can't wait to catch The Time Traveler's Wife as soon as it hits a theater near me! I'm a sucker for 'chronologically challenged' stories.

Well Dea-chan m'dear, take care and see you next update, I hope. Thank you for your lovely review!

**To Arshies: **I'm glad not to altogether disappoint you here because I believe that there are a few more chapters to come. Hope you'll stick with me for the bumpy ride!

**To miniwoo: **You know, I felt it was a bit too harsh, last chapter's ending, but I liked it too. I like this raw Kaoru, she's so different from what I usually write that I won't lie; it's fun to step outside of the box once in a while.

Thank you for being so supportive and kind. Don't expect too many more oneshots out of me, especially since I'm determined to see this one fic through – I'm not counting on it being very long so it shouldn't be a problem to update regularly. Or so I hope. Until next time!

**To Gabi1994: **To discover what's wrong with Kaoru, you'll just have to stay tuned. As to why Kenshin married someone else… there's a reason for it. All will be explained soon enough. The question is: can you wait for it and see this story through? ^_^

**To Ri-nee-chan: **I love you too! And yes, once you have proper internet access, we should totally write long e-mails to one another to make up for lost time.

Sorry this darker side of the moon has you a little worried, but I seem to have gotten in touch with my angst-ridden side – what can I say? Emo is the new black – and I intend to see how it pans out. I don't know it's just interesting to try something different for a change, experiment with a story that's not as lighthearted as my usual. Don't fret, though, because as for me, the author, I'm doing fine. Life isn't perfect, of course, but you're right to remind me that I am strong and I thank you wholeheartedly for wanting to be there for me while I make my way into adulthood. I'm glad we crossed paths on this site.

Anyway, have fun in Japan – you're a college student now; you've totally earned the down-time – and make sure to check in with me whenever you can. Take care of yourself, my 'emotionally complicated' imotou!

**To The Only Love For Soujiro Seta:** Thanks, I will keep writing, forever and ever, until my hands fall off. A writer, after all, is what I am and will always be.


	4. What are little girls made of?

_STANDARD DISCLAIMERS APPLY_

**AN:** A little less of Kaoru's thoughts and a little more plot advancement; that's what another installment is made of.

* * *

**Unapologetic**

_by Anna Iram_

* * *

**Chapter 4: What are little girls made of?**

* * *

I'm up after getting very little to no sleep. I'm washing my face, I'm showering, I'm putting some clean clothes on and, all the while, I'm thinking about the day that lies ahead of me and how there are things I'm scared to do but will not – absolutely will _not_ – put off.

Down in the kitchen, I make a fresh pot of coffee while steering clear of the stove, the toaster, the blender and all other electrical appliances. It's time for breakfast and my stomach is making damn sure I take notice. But it's Sunday and it's early; Misao will probably sleep in like she always does on the weekends. My stomach will just have to make do with a cereal bar and some yogurt, I guess. I'm not in the mood for burnt toast anyway.

Before I go, I leave a note on the fridge. I'm not specific regarding my whereabouts. In fact, sticking to the basics, I merely let my housemate know I won't be home for lunch; the rest, she doesn't need to know.

Since the words sound so impersonal and my intent lies not in hurting her feelings, I draw a smiley face on the yellow post-it, right next to my short message. It comes out more like a frown, but I never claimed to be an artist.

On my way out, I grab an umbrella. It's starting to rain and my hair is already enough of a frizzy mess. As for my nerves, those are frazzled. And what about my heart? Well, it's skipping beats, but, as long as I can keep on denying that it's a little broken, that's fine by me.

* * *

Taking the stairs two at a time, Misao is saved from breaking her neck by sheer luck and abilities that only a gymnast can possess. It bodes well for her that she took gymnastics seriously until she turned fifteen and other pursuits swayed her from the path of Olympic glory.

The house is quiet, she realizes, as she bounces into the kitchen. She hums to herself to fill the silence. Out of the pantry comes a cereal box, out of a drawer a spoon and down from the cupboard above the sink, a plain white bowl.

Missing the final key ingredient, she opens the refrigerator door, retrieves a carton of skim milk, then swings the door shut. Carton in hand, she sees the message left behind by her roommate.

"Clipped and aloof," she offhandedly notes, her high-pitched voice being all there is to hear in the otherwise tomb of a kitchen.

Craning her neck to the side, she tries to identify the squiggle on the left-hand corner of the post-it and promptly gives up. Kaoru was never much of an artist, anyway.

With a careless shrug, Misao sets to preparing breakfast, but the cheerful smile usually pasted on her face is gone without a trace. She's worried about her friend and about the places she might go. Kaoru is in dire straits and Misao is no fool; she's just not too sure her involvement is wanted.

She eats quickly, because she hates soggy cereal. She schemes while she chews. Then, standing over the kitchen sink, resolve hits her like a ton of bricks. At long last, she knows what to do.

Misao washes her bowl and spoon and she's smiling again. Her smile is not nearly as bright as it could be, but it's a start.

* * *

The rain's stopped. I should be grateful for at least that much, but the truth is I hate coming here so badly, I can't even muster relief over something so trivial. Every time I step foot in this place, I feel like an utter failure. Hey, I know I _am_ one, I just don't appreciate being reminded of my shortcomings; I don't think anyone does.

"Hi dad, it's me."

What hurts the most is that he doesn't even acknowledge me. Actually, that probably comes a close second to the fact that I couldn't keep him with me. I wanted to, but, let's face it: the man's a handful and I have a job that leaves me no time to take care of anyone, not even myself. It's still quite a blow to my pride, though, knowing I couldn't do more for him. After all, he devoted his entire life to me, the motherless child who rarely felt she lacked another parent because he was just so good at filling up all the empty spaces. I owe him everything and it kills me that I haven't repaid him in kind.

"I saw Kenshin yesterday," I inform him. I leave out the bits he would have my head for, of course. "You remember him, don't you? You never did like him."

I wiggle my thumbs and feel so much like a child again, it's silly. My father had systematically disapproved of any boy to come within handholding range of me and it shames me to admit it, but I can't seem to break the juvenile habit of feeling nervous when I speak to him about a man. It's double the trouble when the man in question is Kenshin; after all, out of all those boys my dad had loved to hate, he's the one that had meant the most to me.

"You always said he was more trouble than he was worth." I take a moment to think about that and, there I go: I'm blushing despite myself. Idiot. "I never bought it for a second," I whisper, more for my benefit than his.

I can feel my lips curving into a wistful smile and, suddenly, I want to gouge my eyes out.

I don't want to see my father's unresponsive face anymore; I want him to stand up and give me a piece of his mind. I want him to tell me that I will, under no uncertain terms, have anything to do with that Kenshin Himura ever again. I want him – so desperately need him – to be my daddy again!

But it's not that simple. Dead brain tissue cannot be restored. The stroke was as severe as a stroke gets; he's not quite dead yet, but he's not alive either, not in a way that actually counts. My superhero of a dad is no more; he takes up space now and slowly chips away at my savings while doing so. The fact that he was reduced to so very little disgusts me.

"I know you're in there somewhere," I say as I crouch down in front of his wheelchair, "I know there's a part of you that can understand me. Today I'm counting on it like I've never allowed myself to before. The thing is, dad, there's something I have to tell you."

We're in the garden of a nursing home I can barely afford, me and my dad. I'm looking him in the eye, telling him a story I wish I could keep to myself. In a way, I am. My father, he'll never tell; he may not even be able to process what I'm saying. And, though it pains me, it's probably for the best: he shouldn't be made to suffer any more than he already has.

Once I'm done with my sad little narrative, I'm back behind the chair, pushing it along, just taking a leisurely walk with my disabled father. I'm pointing out the color of every single beautiful flower surrounding us and making snide remarks about some of his fellow residents. I swear, just for a second, I think I see him smile. For the first time all day, I feel my heart warm.

* * *

Misao's stride is purposeful as she makes her way across the empty street – empty, that is, save for one man on his midday jog.

"So you're the dick that ruined her for all other men. I'd say it's a pleasure, but I would be lying."

Kenshin comes to a stop. He finds it odd that the petite woman standing in his way smiles while insulting him. Not one to be outdone, he smiles right back at her.

"Excuse me, do I know you?" he asks, wiping his sweaty forehead with the back of his hand.

"No, I'm pretty sure you'd remember me," she replies, mischievous fire dancing in her eyes. "You're Kenshin, right? Kaoru's Kenshin, I mean? Oh, honey, if you knew me, you'd probably be in a wheelchair by now."

Kenshin creases his brow. "I'm sorry, what about Kaoru?" he insists, still striving to be polite despite the stranger's blatant hostility.

Misao arches an eyebrow and puts her hands to her hips. "Funny, that's my line."

"Did something happen to her? Did she send you here?"

"Send me?" she parrots, blinking owlishly. "Oh, no, she'd kill me if she knew I was here! By the way, you're not an easy man to find, you know that?"

Kenshin shrugs. "I'm in the book," he says, disagreeing with her point of view. "Now, how do you know Kaoru exactly? And how is it that you've come across me here and not at my house?" he asks and Misao swears that there is a hint of menace lurking in his smile, in his eyes.

"Well, I've been known to stalk an ex or too in my day. That and I know someone on the force." She pauses, then not-so-airily comments, "Actually, I've been kicking myself all the way here because I'm very protective of Kaoru and she's mentioned you quite a bit. How I didn't think to run a background check on you sooner…well, it boggles the mind, doesn't it? Then again, up until a day ago I didn't think you were a part of her life anymore."

Kenshin's eyes darken and Misao is officially certain that 'menace' is not a strong enough word. Apparently, she's struck a nerve. This makes her feel a little too proud of herself. It shows.

"Why are you here?" he demands, his voice gone cold. "I suggest you get to the point."

"Is that a threat?" she retorts. Deep down, she's spoiling for a fight; if he would give her just one good reason to smack him…

"Take it as you will."

"Careful there, you don't know whose toes you might be stepping on."

The tension in the air grows thicker. They're playing a dangerous game and, while Misao enjoys every minute of it, the man she has sought out is far from pleased. The one thing guaranteed to put Kenshin in a bad mood is Kaoru's name getting tossed around in random conversation. To him, her name is sacred and it rarely leaves his lips outside of her presence; taking it in vain is simply a mistake he cannot afford to make.

Going for it, Kenshin decides to turn the heat up a notch. "I would if you would only do me the kindness of telling me your name and stating your purpose," he disarmingly remarks. Like his grandmother used to say, you catch more bees with honey than with vinegar.

Bowing her head, the black-haired woman is willing to call it a draw and get on with business. "The name's Misao Makimachi and the only reason I'm here is because I'm worried about Kaoru and I think you might know something that I don't." She crosses her arms and stares pointedly at him. "So, what _do_ you know, Kenshin Himura?"

"I know that you should have kept your name to yourself; I'm not about to volunteer information of any kind to Captain Makimachi's little girl. As far as Kaoru goes, whatever's between us is our business and ours alone."

"Know thy enemy, huh? I can totally respect that," she ascertains, crowning the whole affair with a conspiratorial wink. However, Misao is not about to leave well enough alone; it's too late for that. Instead, she offers her housemate's lover the honest explanation she refused him from the start. "The thing is, I'm _not _your enemy and I'm certainly not here to tell you that you're being an idiot for getting someone as special as she is involved in something so sordid just for kicks. Something tells me, 'just for kicks' is not the right turn of phrase anyway. I'm here because I'm hoping you care enough for her to decide to help me."

"You think I can help you?"

While he waits for an answer, Kenshin ponders that the young woman claiming to be Kaoru's friend no longer seems as confident and fiery as he first perceived her to be. Clearly, she is distressed. Obviously, she's here for answers that are not his to give.

"I'm saying you're going to want to help me," Misao affirms. She means every word.

"And what if I were to tell you that she is beyond our help?" Kenshin asks. He means every bitter word just as much, if not more. He is unapologetic in his bluntness.

"I…I won't accept that," she says. A shadow of fright forces her to stutter but, no matter what she is told, she's still Misao, she's still fire and ice and she doesn't back down.

Kenshin smirks. Without looking for one, he has found an ally.

Briefly – and however darkly – he wonders just what good it'll do.

* * *

"So, how did your unscheduled business trip go?" Tomoe asks as soon as her husband walks through the door.

He has been gone all weekend, is returning without any sort of luggage in tow and is definitely not dressed for success. In fact, he is wearing a white t-shirt, gray sweatpants and running shoes. Needless to say, she isn't expecting to engage in an 'I-missed-you-so-much' kiss. She's not expecting any truth to his vague explanations either; she never does.

"We need to talk," he says.

"I figured as much," she rejoins, her eyes and attention drawn back to her needlepoint.

"You won't like it."

"I never do," she listlessly agrees, her nimble fingers at work.

Kenshin shakes his head. "No, you don't understand. It's not about your father this time."

"Oh? That would be a first then, wouldn't it?"

"Maybe so," he replies. His voice is weary. "For what it's worth, I would much rather get into another argument about my involvement in your father's affairs."

"It's that serious, then?" she inquires, looking up from the crafts project on her lap.

Kenshin's tired eyes bore into hers. For a second, she feels as though she's drowning. For the first time since the wedding, she feels as though she's looking at the real him.

"Nothing has ever mattered to me more," he softly tells her.

"I'll go put the kettle on, then," she says, gracefully rising to her feet.

Not for the first time since they met, she feels as though they may well be kindred spirits.

* * *

_**AN#2: **__Thank you for taking the time to read this. Please, if you feel up to it, review._

* * *

_Reviewer responses:_

**To dreamsweetmydear: **Thank you for rolling out the red carpet and, basically, for such a warm welcome. I have to admit, I have been blessed with the kindest, most encouraging reviewers on this site – this, of course, includes you, m'dear. Thank you for remembering 180º ST&T with such fondness.

In regards to this story, I have decided to go on a darker path, hence the darker Kaoru. I'm glad that you like this "new" take on her character. Like you, I too sense that she is ready to go; the problem is she's kind of reluctant to part as well, because there are so many loose ends. But yeah, ultimately, after she solves a thing or two and confronts one fear or another, she will be fully ready to face her fate and she'll do it with as much dignity as Kaoru can muster – I would say grace too, but it's Kaoru, after all; the girl is an accident waiting to happen!

Once again, thank you for the kind words and see you next update!

**To Dea Mariella: **I don't know if my subconscious has anything to do with it – probably – but as you can see for yourself, this is definitely not a stand-alone installment. It also centers a little less on Kaoru – did I do bad? – for the sake of the development of an actual plot and whatnot. Unfortunately for you, there were no big reveals here – does another aspect of Misao's personality count? ^_~

This chapter has a different feel to it – less introspective – and, frankly, I don't know if that's a good thing or merely a major snooze. I think it's cool that you appreciated the whole 'icing on the cake' metaphor last time around because I did struggle with it a little – I didn't want to overdo it. So… this chapter, did I overdo anything? You be the judge.

Kissies and take care. Until next time!

**To poems2songs: **Thanks for the review!Well, Kaoru, it seems, went to visit her dad, who is not doing too well himself. And, for the first time, she confesses to being sorry about something. The girl just might not be as jaded as we initially thought, huh?

**To Seelenspiel: **Thank you! How sweet!

**To bbzachariah: **First off, thank you for the constructive criticism; mere praise is always good, but pointers can be just as good if not better. I like that you took the time to mention certain inconsistencies in my writing because it's beneficial to everyone, really. I mean, if the writer does a better job, then the reader's will enjoy it all the more, right?

I'll be sure to work on the things you've mentioned and, hey, hopefully one day I will be in a position that will require me to have an editor (contractually, if you get my drift). I hope to see you in the reviewer's section in the future. I'm all ears and very interested in your opinion; after all, on this site, there's only room to grow

**Gabi1994: **You're so cute, you know that? Don't worry; asking for something will not ruin the story at all: that only means that the bug of suspense has tasted your blood. And, no matter how icky that sounds, it is a good thing, trust me. Thank you so much for all you reviews.

**To miniwoo:** See, I kidded you not – is it okay if I say 'kidded'? –, there was another chapter, just as there will most likely be a couple more in the future. Ye of little faith…

I'm glad you enjoyed the back story last chapter; I had a blast writing it. For once, the ideas just flowed and it was almost easy to translate into words the image I had in my head of this young girl standing somewhere she had no place being, acting all tough with her cigarette on her lips. For the record, her 'savior' is older than her, but not creepily so. If it helps, in the beginning, they're really just friends.

Remain hopeful my friend for there is more to come. Thanks for the reviews and stay tuned!

**To Brukaoru: **Thank you for leaving such a lovely comment behind. I appreciate it very much!

**To : **That soon enough for ya? ^_~ Take care now!

* * *


	5. Ridi, Pagliaccio

_STANDARD DISCLAIMERS APPLY_

**AN:** This has helped with the writer's block. I thought I ought to return the favor by putting another chapter in.

* * *

**Unapologetic**

_by Anna Iram_

**Chapter 5: ****Ridi****, ****Pagliaccio**

* * *

It's a wonder to me how one small body – more skin and bones than anything else, really – can contain so much rage. It's a mystery, really, how this frail vessel can enclose all kinds of conflicting emotions, can keep them locked up tight like that box in the back of the closet, the one that no pair of eyes is allowed to peer into ever again.

Today I woke up feeling angry. At the world. At myself. Over all, it's been a bad week. Then again, it's always a bad week when you know you're going to fucking die. At least I assume that's the case – hey, I'm new at this whole thing; I'm not exactly an expert on Death and all his friends, at least not yet.

The phone is ringing but, whoever it is can leave a message. Whoever it is, his or her days probably aren't numbered, so they can afford to wait until I get back to them.

I bury my head underneath my pillow, but it's freaking useless. I know I'm not going back to sleep no matter how hard I try or how much I'd like to.

Don't get me wrong, I've always been a huge fan of sleeping in, but here's the thing: once you know you're not long for this world, you begin to realize how useless it is to stay curled up in bed doing absolutely nothing. Laziness is a waste of time that could definitely be put to better use, that's the perspective I currently have on life. This, by the way, totally blows, because I like to sleep, only now I fucking know better.

See why I'm so mad I could explode? This whole 'death' thing is totally cramping my style! I mean, who knew being forced to live with a sense of one's own mortality could be such a drag?

* * *

"When exactly were you planning on telling me that you're sick?"

I really wasn't expecting that question. I mean, I walked down to the kitchen and the only thing on my mind as I reached for the refrigerator door was that I'm so hungry I could eat my own cooking. At this ungodly hour, there is no room for profound thoughts or paranoia in the space between my ears. How was I to know that my roommate's been sitting on classified information for a couple of days and has finally gathered the necessary courage to confront me about my doomed fate?

"When exactly were you planning on not freaking out because I'm sick?" I absently retort. I'm sleepy, I'm grouchy, I'm starving and Misao has taken it upon herself to stand between the fridge and my growling stomach. My life stinks.

"That's why you didn't tell me, because you didn't want me to freak out?" she asks, her voice remaining quite level, which is kind of spooky since she generally injects her words with excessive emotion. "Is that seriously all you have to say for yourself?"

Okay, this is weird. For starters, I thought I would be the one to break it to her. Actually, after several failed attempts, I figured I should let nature take its course and cross that bridge when I, you know, crossed it. For another thing, I always pictured the great reveal involving a river of tears. Somehow, I never stopped to think that I would be standing barefoot in the kitchen more concerned about my damn appetite than my best friend's reaction to the news.

"Can I eat first?"

Misao slams her hand against the refrigerator door. She looks far from pleased. In fact, she pretty much looks like she wants to skin me alive. I guess she's entitled; I've been a bad friend, what with the whole concealing-my-impending-death thing.

Doesn't she get that I wanted to spare her, though? I mean this emotional rollercoaster car I'm trapped in, I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy. This whole mess is like PMS times a thousand and I know her, I know that this is something she can't handle. I'm not saying she isn't strong, I'm just physically incapable of putting her through the wringer; she, of all people, doesn't deserve it.

I swear, she's going to be so effing loud about it, wailing and slamming doors and throwing fits and remaining hopeful to the very end… I can't watch her do that to herself. Is it so very wrong of me that I like an ignorant and happy Misao best? Is it such a crime that I was kind of wishing / hoping / praying that by some miracle she would never have to find out?

"I talked to him," she practically growls out. "I actually had to go looking for your part-time lover and talk to him just so he could tell me what you were too chicken to say!"

Before I can stop myself, I've rolled my eyes, I've opened my mouth and I have put my big fat foot in it by saying something along the lines of "Oh, please, like you wanted to admit you thought something was wrong with me."

Misao's response to my insolent attitude is immediate and it leaves me reeling.

Pressing my hand to my cheek, I'm having a hard time wrapping my head around the fact that my best friend just slapped me. For a second, I resort to thinking that I'm still in bed, that I'm dreaming, but my cheek is actually throbbing, so no, this definitely feels too real to be fiction.

"Did you just slap me?" I ask her, just to make sure.

"Yes," she replies.

I take a moment to let that sink in and then ask, "Did I deserve it?"

Misao crosses her arms and glares silently at me. Her entire body language seems to pose the question "What do you think?" and I really have no intelligent answer to non-verbal snark of that caliber.

"Fair enough," I say and shrug my shoulders. Okay, so it sucks that violence is on the menu, but I'm not about to get all broken up about it. "So what did Kenshin tell you, exactly?"

Slumping down on one of the chairs at the kitchen table, Misao refuses to so much as look at me, let alone talk to me. She should be at work by now, but she isn't. It's evident that she has cleared up her schedule to sort out this mess; I'm confident that patience will reward me with the sound of her voice in little to no time. Meanwhile, I can make myself a grilled cheese sandwich.

It is while I'm buttering a loaf of bread that she decides to break the silence.

"He said he knows this really good doctor, one that only takes on the hardest cases."

"Wow, he knows Gregory House?"

"Better yet," she forges on, impervious to my failed attempt at a joke, "he knows someone who is real and can help. We made an appointment for you today."

Suddenly, I find myself closing my eyes, taking a deep breath and counting back from ten. What right do they have to strike an alliance and make decisions about my life without consulting me first? Why won't they let me go in peace? I mean, is it any wonder why I didn't want to tell Misao about it in the first place? I knew she would pull something like this! I knew that she would want to go all Don Quixote on my ass and stand off against a bunch of windmills!

"Cancel it," I tell her, very nearly turning the loaf of bread in my hand into crumbs. "I'm busy today."

Misao's head snaps around fast enough to give her whiplash. "I doubt anything you have lined up for today is more important than your health, Kamiya," she snarls.

"As a matter of fact, I'm meeting with my father's lawyer today. I'm going to draw up my will, an activity that has everything to do with the state of my health."

Now _that_ shuts her up. It also makes her turn white as a sheet.

Look, it's not like I'm about to get a kick out of freaking her out, but I really do think she needs to get her facts straight – Kenshin's such an idiot for nurturing her optimistic vein.

"By the way," I go on, because by this point a thousand armies couldn't stop me if they tried, "I'm leaving the house to you, Makimachi."

Oh man, the look of horror on that girl's face is something I'm bound to never forget. I'd better paste on a smile or, at the very least, go find a bucket because she's turning green now and I don't want to have to clean the kitchen floor; it's too early to mop.

"Oh, chin up! I'm telling you you're the daughter I'll never have. It's a good thing!"

Here I am, doing my best to be cheery, but, somehow, I doubt that's working. For one thing, Misao's exotic green eyes have narrowed to slits and at the moment she seems more like a coiled snake about to spring than her usual pixie-like self.

"Misao…?"

"Drop dead, Kaoru," she hisses at me before propelling herself out of her seat and running out of the room. Well, there goes my appetite. What a poor choice of words, by the way.

Standing in the empty kitchen, staring down at the plate sitting on the counter in front of me, everything is so freaking quiet I could hear a pin drip. Instead, what my ears pick up on is the sound of Misao's bedroom door slamming shut, closely followed by incredibly loud sobs. She's violently sad, that one.

"I'm going to kill you, Kenshin," I mutter to myself. "I'm going to kill you and enjoy every minute of it too."

* * *

"You had no right to tell her!" I yell into the phone.

It's the middle of the day and the man I hate to love and, incidentally, love to hate is on the other side of the line. I'm having a fit. I'm pissed off like you wouldn't believe and I've decided I'm going to take it all out on him. Apparently, I want to fuck it up big time.

"She needed to know," he says in a manner so calm, it's like we're talking about the weather here.

"What for, Kenshin? So she could side with you and talk me into going to see your magical doctor?"

"No," he denies, "she had a right to know because she's your friend and she was worried."

"Bullshit! You just wanted to make sure someone else would make my last days on Earth a living hell! You took advantage of her vulnerability, used her for your own purposes and now she fucking won't stop crying! Thanks a lot, you asshole!"

It goes on like that for a while. I hurl accusations left and right and he, he just takes it. He doesn't defend himself, he doesn't rise to the bait and he doesn't sink to my level: all Kenshin does is listen and stay composed. All he does is everything I don't want or need.

Oh how I want him to yell, to get angry too, to say horrible things to me! I need him to want to hurt me as much and just as badly as I'm trying to hurt him. I need him to push me so far that I'll never be able to reach for him ever again.

"Stay away from me, Kenshin," I tell him. I'm not screaming anymore, I don't think I have the strength for it. "I mean it; stay the hell away from me for good."

There, I've said it.

Before I can think it through or take it back, I'm pushing the cordless back into its cradle. And that's when it truly sinks in: I've hung up. I've ended it. Oh wow, I think my brain just fell out of my head.

* * *

Has the world ended? I've never once, in all time we've known each other, asked him to leave me. I doubt I thought I could. The words, they always eluded me before, so I just let him be the one to walk away every single time. The choice was his to make, whereas I was just a helpless victim of love and circumstance: it was easier that way, to keep things that simple.

The phone's not ringing. Why would it be ringing? Why would he call? I was pretty clear, wasn't I? Why should he have heard something else in my voice that would make him think 'fuck it' and ring me up anyway?

I turn on my side and stare at the wall. It's been ten minutes and the phone is mighty quiet. Which is perfectly fine by me because that's exactly what I want, right?

Since the beginning of the week, all I've been asking for is some peace and quiet and now Misao isn't speaking to me because she's locked in her room, too busy bawling her eyes out to have a word with me. As for Kenshin, I certainly took care of that problem, didn't I?

So, for the moment, it's just me, my jammies and a purple teddy bear that's been in my possession since before I learned how to count.

Maybe it's my imagination, or maybe it's just a speck of crusted chocolate, but boy, I swear, the bear is looking at me funny. Is that line over its right eye a raised eyebrow or an old stain? Whatever it is, it translates into profound disapproval, so I chuck the stuffed animal across the room. My rocking jammies and I are not in the mood for any form of criticism today.

The truth is, I did the right thing, I'm completely certain of it. Granted, I may not have gone about things in the best way possible, but I never said I was perfect and there really isn't much to be said or done about plans changing, is there? In my mind, it always sounded better if Misao found out through me as opposed to someone else, but now that the cat's out of the bag, I'm just grateful I don't have to carry that secret around with me anymore. Or, at least, I know I should feel grateful.

Above all else, what I feel is tired. I feel like I could sleep forever if I just took the right combination of pills. I feel like I shouldn't care whether the stupid phone rings or not, but I do.

It hurts. I hurt all over, all the time. I hurt in all the wrong places. It makes me mad that I'm not in control, that I can't staunch wounds that are invisible to the naked eye.

Caring about others, worrying constantly about the people I'm going to leave behind, it's frustrating and it's exhausting; it's the reason I have bags under my eyes. It's why sometimes I think alienating everyone is my only choice and their only real out. I'll do what I have to do to keep them all safe, even if it kills me.

When the phone finally rings, I jump at the unexpected sound. I lost track of time, so I honestly don't know just how many minutes ago I finished ruining my life. What I do know, though, is that my hands are shaking awfully bad and that my voice, it quivers when I answer the call.

"Be ready to go out in half an hour. I'm coming over."

Click. Beep-beep-beep-beep. Silence.

The line's dead, but I'm not, at least not yet, and the sigh of relief that escapes me, it's worth a thousand words.

I'll never tell, but I've never been happier to hear his voice than just now. For a moment there, I thought I'd never get to ever again.

* * *

He doesn't say anything; instead he shoots me one of those long, hopelessly patient looks he's been giving me ever since we met. It seems to me that this man is always waiting for me to come around and see the light. It's like he knows what's in my head, understands that denial is part of my process and he's willing to humor me because, ultimately, he believes in me. Sometimes, I really resent him for that.

"Now that's the smartest mirror I've ever seen," I say, pointing at the art deco antiquity hanging on the wall.

His eyebrows shoot up. "Why would you say that?" he asks, evidently confused by my enthusiasm over something old and rusty.

I shrug. "The glass is stained and scratched. It's incapable of reflecting a perfect image."

Clearly my explanation doesn't sit well with him. His displeasure at my choice of words is written all over his face. Pfft. Like I care.

"So, why are we here?" I ask him, poking at my side dish of sautéed vegetables with my fork.

'Here' is a little seaside restaurant owned by a charming elderly couple. 'Here' is a two hour drive from my house. 'Here' is where he took me on our first real date.

"I had a craving, that's all," Kenshin says, the serrated blade of his knife sinking into the piece of steak on his plate. The meat's juicy enough for me to tell that his taste in that department hasn't changed; he's still a medium rare type of guy.

"We're at a seafood restaurant. If you were eating shrimp or crab or grilled salmon or something, I might take you on your word."

Kenshin shakes his head, a small mischievous smile tugging at his lips. "I never said my craving had anything to do with food," he clarifies, specks of gold dancing in his lavender eyes.

Oh, he wants to play that game now, does he? He should know better by now; I give as good as I get and I don't hold back. I have a feeling this late lunch of ours is about to be cut short by a little dose of nasty, courtesy of my jaded bitter self, of course.

"What, your wife not doing it for you anymore?" I ask, smiling slyly at him. I want to push all his buttons. I want to see him bleed. "Do you think she'd be open to the idea of a threesome? I hear loads of couples consider that a great way to spice up their sex life. Watching me go down on her, would that turn you on?"

To my immense surprise, he chuckles and takes me in fondly. "You'd prefer that, wouldn't you?" he goes on to say, decidedly throwing me for a loop. "You'd much rather hear me say that it's your body I'm after, when the truth of the matter is that your company is what I crave the most."

Well I'm stumped. You see, I figured that if I said all the wrong things, he would stop looking at me like that, like I'm the only person in the room. When he does that, I start feeling things I don't want to put a name to, things that belong in a box in the back of my closet, photographs I didn't have the heart to throw away.

When Kenshin does that, when he looks beyond all the bullshit and _sees_ me, I remember the person I once was and, believe me, there's nothing I hate more than a trip down memory lane. He knows that, but he doesn't care. Sometimes, I think he wants to see me bleed too, just a little. I think he doesn't ever want me to forget that we were almost happy once. I think he refuses to remember he was the one that turned it all to shit.

"You're too much for me, Kenshin," I tell him. My hands are shaking. Anger's swirling inside of me and taking over. "You're too much of a good thing, too much of a bad thing and you make me want to raise my voice in a crowded restaurant even though I hate people who make scenes!"

For the longest time, he's silent. He's not eating, he's not arguing with me, hell he's not even looking at me anymore: he's sitting there with me, but he feels miles and miles away.

I tell myself quite firmly that I don't care, that this is much better, but deep down I'm waiting for him to snap out of it and be the smartass I know he can be. I need him to be better than all of this. I don't want to admit it, but I really do need this man to be above playground psychology and knock me down a peg or two or three with a degree of maturity I'll never posses.

Kenshin's hand slithers across the table and curls around mine. Rubbing his thumb over my knuckles, he suddenly says, "I owe you so many explanations."

As if seared, I pull away from his touch. "Yeah, well, what makes you think I want to hear any of it?"

"Well, I confess that the fact that you haven't left yet, it gives me some small measure of hope."

My eyes widen. I've found an opening and I will not hesitate to take it, for I am that desperate. My poor sweet Kenshin, he may not realize it, but the shit I put us through now, it's the greatest sendoff gift I could ever give him.

"Is that what it'll take? If I get up and walk out of here, will you drive me home and forget all about me for good?" I ask and there is greed in every syllable, a hunger that can only be quenched with an affirmative answer in each inflection of my voice.

The mistake I make, the fatal flaw in my brilliant plan, is that I sound like I'm pleading with him. For the record, I know I am, but he shouldn't. To his ears, I should sound defiant and callous. Instead, I come across as small and scared and he latches on to that. He's a very intelligent man, after all. He's pigheaded and strong-minded and he can poke a hole through any one of my defenses because he knows me a little too well for comfort.

"Go ahead and do your absolute worst, Kaoru," he challenges me, making sure to hold my gaze so I can read the message in his own eyes loud and clear. My love, my nightmare in shining armor, he's dead serious. "You go look at yourself in all the broken mirrors you want; I'll still think you're beautiful."

Suddenly, I find myself on the verge of tears that I simply cannot afford to shed. "Please let me go," I beg in a voice so tremulous and faint I can hardly recognize it as my own.

Again, he reaches across the table and threads his fingers through mine. This time, he will not let me withdraw my hand from his.

"All I've ever been good for in this life, Kaoru, is holding on to you," he confesses, giving me a wounded smile. Because, you know, wolves tend to get injured by lambs pretty damn often.

"I'm not a kite!" I cry out. "I'm not a kite and I'm certainly not a buoy! Besides, that's not true and you know it!"

His grip on my hand tightens, almost to the point of pain. "It is," he hisses, "and despite overwhelming evidence to the contrary, you know it too."

What had escaped from my attention before was nearly impossible to ignore now: his face is practically inches from mine. Not that I'm capable of looking away from his heated stare – I'm tempted to count eyelashes here – or his lips – there goes my brain, taking a stroll down the gutter – but I'm pretty sure the tip of his tie is swimming in steak juices right about now. How on Earth did he get so close without me noticing?

"I wish I'd never met you," I whisper fiercely, hoping against hope he will believe the lie.

"Like I said," he whispers right back, favoring me with a feral smirk, "do your worst."

Backhanded compliments have a way of slipping under my shields that straightforward ones rarely, if ever, do. I feel so ugly right now, picking fights for no apparent reason and acting surly simply because I can, that it's subduing, in a sense, knowing that he's calling me beautiful without saying the word – I know, I know: classic case of 'taming of the shrew' syndrome, anyone?

Still, there's something to be said about knowing that, were Kenshin a mirror, my reflection would have nothing to do with the tattered, torn and world-weary person I claim to be. While disturbing for reasons I refuse to address, it's also strangely comforting to have someone believe there's beauty to be found in the worst side of you yet.

Before I do something I'm bound to regret – sticking my tongue down his throat, for one – I lean back in my chair and lower my eyes to the tablecloth. It's a plain, white, boring tablecloth, but looking at it beats seeing myself through Kenshin's eyes, which is pretty much like staring redemption in the face.

I cross my arms, jut out my chin and mumble out, "I'm not hungry anymore." I'm behaving like a spoiled brat now and I don't give a crap.

"Alright, we'll take that to go, then. Something tells me your friend probably hasn't eaten anything all day."

That makes me flinch. It's like a slap to the face, really, and it's still quite fresh in my mind how taking one for the team feels. After all, it was only this morning that said inconsolable friend smacked her palm across my cheek.

"If you really want me to go see your stupid doctor, then I will," I inexplicably find myself blurting out.

Kenshin wants to laugh at me – for some reason or other, he's always found me to be particularly entertaining – but he manages to hold in the slightest chuckle. "I really want you to go see my stupid doctor," he gently admits.

"Fine," I grumpily yield. I'm _so _over this.

"Fine," he affirms and, damn it all to hell, it's now a done deal, this whole doctor business. Lovely.

A waiter comes over, Kenshin asks for the check and the table is cleared. He smiles at me, his perfect white teeth showing. The truth is, I can't decide: is my life a comedy or a tragedy? I smile back, though I fear instead of happy and carefree I just look constipated.

Sometimes I catch myself wondering: are Kenshin and I Pierrot and Pierrette? Are we just a pair of clowns dancing around one another? And, if so, do we find cause for regret in our modest act? Somehow, I find it hard to believe that we ever could.

* * *

_**AN#2: **__Thank you for taking the time to read this. Please, if you feel up to it, review._

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_Reviewer responses:_

**To poems2songs: **Well, this chapter certainly doesn't answer what Kenshin and Tomoe talked about in the previous installment – this will be revealed at a later time – but it certainly does reveal that Kenshin did tell Misao the truth, not to mention the fact that the pair decided to force Kaoru to go see a doctor. Though, if she's sick and knows what ails her, then surely Kaoru's already been to one? This will come up next chapter. Thanks for the reviews – they're fuel for the muse!

**To bbzachariah: **Well, I'm unsure whether this chapter is an improvement or not, but it certainly sets the tone for a telling medical appointment in the next installment. Not to mention that, by going out with Kenshin, Kaoru's bailed on the lawyer, so I suppose that will have to be either properly addressed or merely glossed over later on. Thanks for the input and hopefully you'll continue to read this story (and review it, of course). Take care.

**To Supernaturalove: **Thank you for your comments, especially regarding the subject of Kaoru's father. I didn't want to be overly melodramatic, but the idea of having Kaoru be an orphan, period, didn't appeal to me greatly. Personally, I have no clue as to how dark this chapter is or isn't. While writing it I realized that the tragedy kept on slipping into comedy and vice versa; I felt trapped in a parallel Woody Allen dimension where every character was Melinda / Melinda. I suppose that's what I get for gradually killing off a main character. Meh.

**To miniwoo: **Sorry to disappoint, but as you can clearly see Misao's plan wasn't elaborate at all – after sitting on it for a while (very unlike her) she simply decided to grab the bull by the horns and come clean (now that's more like it!). As for the other things you addressed in your last review: I don't know if you should be feeling bad or not for Tomoe just yet. I'm not a basher, usually, but I'm still unsure what her role here will be. Also, there is a plan for a K/T marriage explanation – Kaoru definitely needs to hear it and be snarky about it. Thank you so much for the props and encouragement; I hope you've been at least a little entertained this time around. If so, then I'll consider my work here done.

**To Seelenspiel: **Just a quick: thanks for the love!

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	6. Unstitched and fraying

_STANDARD DISCLAIMERS APPLY_

**AN:** My favorite literature teacher always said that if you're stuck you should a) read or b) write something else that will get you back on track. This story is my something else. I hope you all like it.

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**Unapologetic**

_by Anna Iram_

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**Chapter 6: Unstitched and fraying**

* * *

"_She comes undone; she's nothing more than loose threads and safety pins."_

This is what they want to be able to say of me. This is what they want to make of me.

"_She's the hole in someone else's fabric."_

This is the one thing I cannot be. This is the one thing I'm turning into.

"_She's needle and thread, trembling fingers diligently working against the clock."_

This is not where I wanted to be, not who I decided to be back when I had the luxury of choice.

"_She's sewing on patches and mending hems."_

This is what needs to be done, but I just don't know whether I have the skill required for the task. I don't know yet, whether I'm a talented seamstress or a dusty rag doll.

"_Ouch."_

The thing I haven't figured out yet is…what hurts the most.

* * *

I pricked my finger today. It bled.

I'm in the car. Misao's at the wheel. She's still not talking to me.

A song is playing on the radio. I like it. It's loud and angry and _très _Johnny Rotten.

Yesterday, I bought a new pair of shades. They're oversized and dramatic and scream 'Italian widow'. I'm wearing them right now because today – of all days – it's sunny in Philadelphia. I reckon I should have worn pumps to really rock the whole Fellini look, but my worn high tops are too damn comfy to trade in for high fashion. _Quel__dommage__, non?_

What I really don't understand, though, is how Misao can drive in those pointy stilettos of hers. I've heard of businesswomen driving barefoot, in flats and even in sneakers. Not that Misao's a businesswoman and not that the stories don't mention said businesswomen slipping on skyscraper-high heels before exiting their vehicles. The point is that she should have her license revoked because, no matter how you slice it, my housemate is one shitty driver. Personally, I blame her shoes. Her chronic ADHD too, but yeah, it's mostly the shoes.

There's a street sign up ahead and the words written on it make my heart sink. The smell of burnt rubber hitting my nose as we make a sharp left? Now that just stirs up my allergies. We're almost there and my eyes are wet and my nose is kind of runny but, really, it's just this rhinitis thing I've got going, which isn't great at all because antihistamines make me woozy. Better roll up the window, I guess.

I can't believe we're almost there. I can't believe I let myself get roped into this. I'm tempted – severely, sorely tempted – to fling the door open and throw myself out of a speeding vehicle. It's either that, or I strangle Misao with her seatbelt; in any case, I'll blame it on her and her damn shoes and the fact that she fucking enjoys flooring the gas pedal a little too much, never mind that she knows I easily get car sick.

"We're here," Misao says to me when the car finally stops moving and is safely nestled between a green jeep and a black minivan in the underground parking lot. Her voice is gravelly and it's the first time she's spoken to me in a week. It's crystal clear that she's struggling with her emotions. I would be touched if I didn't feel like retching.

Seriously, though, when will some law enforcer take pity on the city as a whole and declare her permanently unfit to operate heavy machinery?

"You're really going to make me do this?" I ask her, fiddling with my seatbelt while wondering why in the seven hells I bothered with the stupid thing in the first place. For starters, it creases my clothes and I iron them myself. Not to mention that it's not going to keep me from dying. Really, with a prognosis like mine, wearing a seatbelt is impractical, period.

Chancing a quick glimpse at the girl sitting next to me reaps zero benefits. Misao has crumbled in on herself, looks like, and I'm left feeling like such a bitch.

I mean, who says I want to hurt her? Who says I wanted _any _of this? I know I'm being difficult, but I don't know how to be anything different. I can't do more. I can't allow myself to feel bad about my behavior because, the more I dwell on it, the more I realize the fat load of good that would do me. Nothing is going to change, regardless of my attitude, of my virtues or my many faults. Like I said, I just can't do more; it's not worth the effort.

Having put in the towel a long time ago, it dawns on me that it's going to take something pretty huge to get me out of this car. Promises simply don't mean what they used to anymore. Of course, the very second I hear Misao take a long, deep breath, I'm ready to take off like a bat out of hell. When she, who favors running her mouth a mile a minute, actually takes the time to breathe, there's no question it's going to be epic. So, with all due respect, where the fuck is the eject button at? Show of hands anyone?

"Just because you're ready to give up, doesn't mean I am," she tells me. No, she doesn't bother sparing a glance my way and yes, her voice is so strangely subdued that I'm not altogether discarding the possibility of body snatchers being involved. "So if you can't do this for yourself, then stop and think about me for a sec. Stop and think about what you're asking me to do. If things were the other way around, would you want to sit back, fold your arms and wait for the hearse?"

She doesn't let me say anything. Not that, heaven help me, I could possibly think of anything remotely intelligent to say to that. Instead, she steps out of the car and pretty much expects me to do the same. Whatever I may be aside, she knows I would never let her die without a fight. What a manipulative sneak, that girl.

Fine, if it means so freaking much to freaking everyone, then, so help me, I'll go up to the doctor's freaking office already. Jeez.

"Happy now?" I find myself asking as I slam the car door shut.

Misao hangs her head and snickers. "Sourpuss," she says and it's seemingly the first time since I can remember that she has sounded remotely like her regular self. I'm glad.

After locking up the car, we make our way to the elevators, arm in arm. Apparently, I was wrong, putting in an effort does pay off from time to time. Now, for instance, Misao and I can be scared together. Take it from me: no one wants to die alone.

* * *

Waiting rooms at private practices are all pretty much the same. There's always a world-weary receptionist sitting behind a desk. She's chewing gum and talking endlessly on the phone because, wouldn't you know, she has a direct line to God.

Magazine perusal is, of course, made pointless by the fact that not one issue of _Golf Digest_ or _Self_ was printed after 1994. That equates into obsolete, uninteresting articles as well as way too many years of accumulated saliva. Why do people lick their forefingers before turning a page, anyway?

Oh and how could I forget about the little boy? You know the one: he's red in the face, he won't stop shrieking as loudly as humanly possible and he's so in need of attention that you just know he's one stomp away from foaming at the mouth. That's right, even the antichrist has to go see the doctor every once in a while.

"Kaoru Kamiya?"

What a relief. The sound of that nurse's voice is like morphine to my veins. I'm so happy she's ready to escort me away from here that I forget just where exactly she's taking me to.

I turn my head just in time to see Misao give me the thumbs up before I disappear behind a white door that leads to a corridor wherein lies another door that leads inside a consultation room wherein stands, smoothing the invisible creases on her white coat, a woman who…

"What are you doing here?" the doctor asks upon looking up from her clothes. She sounds upset and she's not talking to the nurse, is she?

"Is everything alright, Dr. Takani?" inquires the young, waifish healthcare professional at my side. She extends the file containing my medical history to the frowning physician. Her hand is shaking.

Dr. Takani automatically recomposes herself. "Everything is fine," she assures her colleague, offering her a tightlipped smile. "I'll take it from here," she says, closing fingers with perfectly manicured nails around the manila folder that, when opened, will reveal to her things about me that, surely, she already knows.

The skittish nurse doesn't need to be told twice. She scampers off at once, leaving me inside the predictably minimalist office with none other than Megumi Takani.

Flipping her glossy hair over her shoulder, she stares expectantly at me. I stare right back because fuck her and that high horse of hers she still hasn't figured out looks more like a pony to me.

"You weren't supposed to come see me until next week and most certainly not at my clinic," she snaps, her face contorted into a sneer.

As a female who knows what it's like to have bad hair days and fights the good fight against blackheads, I feel no shame in admitting that it is infuriating to come across a woman like Megumi. Her skin is like porcelain; her nose is every plastic surgeon's dream; her legs really do go on for miles; her breast are pert and just the right size; her stomach has never seen flab; she's tall enough to strut down a catwalk: in short, it's perfectly okay to gratuitously hate her because she _is_ that beautiful and no, sadly no amount of sneering on her part will ever change that. She's just one of the lucky ones, I guess. Since we're on the subject, she also happens to be a royal bitch.

"Put away the claws, Megumi. If I had known your name was on the building, I would have maintained a safe distance. By the way, which part of _Gensai Medical Group_ says Takani?"

It is so effing obvious that she wants to roll her eyes, but she's not one to even consider lowering her uppity self to my uncivilized standards, is she? As a result, she opts to clear her throat and busy herself with a stack of papers on her desk. This course of action gives her the perfect opportunity to turn her back on me.

"Lookit," I hear myself say, "why don't we just take a minute to let the irony and awkwardness that is the here and now sink in?"

With her back suddenly straight as a rod, Megumi pivots on her heel and openly glares at me. "Yes, let's do that," she agrees although, on some level, it becomes clear to me that she's merely humoring me. Maybe it has something to do with the angry bolts of lightning flashing in her eyes. "Why don't we also take a minute to contemplate the possibility that you're mildly retarded?"

"Hey, I resent that!" I yell because, really, as if any of this is my fault! I didn't choose this, dammit! I didn't choose her, I didn't choose what's happening to me and, if it weren't for my friendship with the chipmunk of a girl sitting in the waiting room, this entire day would have panned out hella different!

She takes a deep breath. She shifts between looking at me and looking at a vertical file cabinet full of secrets on the opposite side of the room. She starts to pace, hands on her hips, carefully mapping out her next move, I'm sure.

"Why, Kaoru?" Megumi finally dares to ask. Her voice is cold, but not altogether unkind. "Why would it ever occur to you that making an appointment with me is anything but dangerous?"

"That's just it, I _didn't_ make the appointment! In fact, I was so against it initially that it was rescheduled!" I strive to explain in my own exasperated way. This, I've been told, involves a lot of hand movement. "It's not my fault I have worrywart friends and that you have good references or whatever. Do you honestly think I would go to the trouble of getting a second opinion? What for, Megumi? What could a second opinion possibly change?"

Apparently something in my words gives her pause, because one second she's still pacing and the next she's rooted to the spot, looking every bit like a person who has just gotten the wind knocked out of them. Not for nothing, but the horrified expression on her face does not become her. I mean it; I'm getting goosebumps over here. Megumi's supposed to be unshakeable.

"Wait," she says. Yep, she's visibly shaken, alright. My day is about to get exponentially worse, isn't it? "_You're_ Kenny's friend? As in you're the reason he called in a favor?"

Instinctively, I find myself folding my arms over my chest. "You mean Ken-_shin_, right? He hates it when people call him Kenny."

Okay, so I'm lying. No, Kenshin doesn't care how people refer to him. But I do.

It doesn't matter that he's nothing of mine, I'll always care. Women like Megumi, perfect and poised and cold as ice, they don't get to cutely abbreviate his name. He's taken and, though not by me, I figure that the wedding band on his finger deserves some respect.

I know that makes me a hypocrite, but just because I've gone out of my way to turn into something I'm not, that doesn't mean I can't remember the other girl, the one whose skin I wore so well before everything started to fall apart. She believed in the sanctity of life and love and other equally fragile things that go between those bookends. She believed in marriage, once upon a dream.

"How do I explain this to him, Kaoru?" she asks me, once again settling all the blame squarely on my shoulders with her lame-ass penchant for condescension. "How do I explain what you've decided to do to yourself?"

I arch an eyebrow and inwardly wonder when Megumi finally went mental. "I don't know," I say, sounding equal parts blasé and defiant, "how exactly do _you_ go about telling people that you inject poor victims of society with deadly poison in your spare time?"

Megumi is so furious that she goes red in the face. Unfortunately for my ego, the extra color on her cheeks only serves to enhance her natural allure.

"None of you are victims," she callously hisses. "Having a price doesn't make you a victim; it makes you weak."

"Everyone has a price, Megumi. Even you."

For the record, I don't know why she does what she does. Maybe it's all born out of a twisted love of science, but I'm leaning towards thinking that she's not so different from me. I have a feeling the good doctor has her own debts to pay and, unfortunately, the people pulling the strings don't take Visa.

Now, I seriously doubt I've humbled her – I don't really think anyone can accomplish such a miraculous feat – but I'm inclined to believe that there's newfound respect for me swimming in her eyes somewhere. At least her hands have slithered away from her hips and she no longer looks ready to scold me. All in all, I'm going to take this as a good sign.

"I could take you to one of our examination rooms," she suggests and, in her voice, I detect the bitter taste of defeat.

"You could do that," I concede, "but what's the point?"

Megumi purses her lips and gives me the once-over. "Kenshin can't know the truth and neither can anyone else." Unlike her, I always give in to the urge to roll my eyes freely. As if I wasn't familiar with the proper rules of engagement by now. "Nonetheless," she persists, "he's going to want information. I will be expected to order a series of tests and make a differential diagnosis."

I shrug and offer her an easy enough solution. "He knows I'm stubborn. You can tell him I refused to get any more tests done, that I was sick of all the poking and prodding. Trust me, he'll buy it," I say.

Megumi shakes her head, dismissing the very thought. "He called in a favor, Kaoru. The fact that you have no manners and behave like a brat will not excuse my incompetence. When Kenshin Himura wants something, he gets it and, presently, what he wants is for me to take over your case and do something about it."

"Only there's nothing you can do."

"No," she agrees, "my hands are tied. At the very least, however, I can wave some test results under his nose and keep up your pathetic farce." She looks awfully displeased and a hint of weariness peppers her words when she asks, "I'm assuming you've told him that it's cancer?"

"You said the symptoms are similar, so that's what I went with," I confirm. For some reason or other, I can't look her in the eye.

Megumi nods her head and takes a seat behind her desk. Her face remains utterly impassive. Without further preamble, I too slide into a chair, though mine's of the smaller, less comfortable variety, reserved for nervous patients and, occasionally, their companions.

For a while, we say nothing. We sit in silence staring at each other, hoping the other will come up with a brilliant idea that will magically yield a solution to our shared plight. Sadly, there's no such thing as magic outside of Disney World.

The thing about Megumi is that she's not exactly likeable. From the moment I met her, the only thing she's ever done is look down on me. Today, however, we sit across from each other as equals. It's quite a first.

Her white coat and the dark circles under my eyes place us on common ground for all the wrong reasons. She knows she has let herself down, as have I. She hates it about as much as I do. It's written all over her face that, like an open book, tells me the story of how sorry she feels. The words, though, will never pass her lips.

I'm glad.

If Dr. Megumi Takani ever dared apologize to me, I wouldn't be able to forgive her. Because a stitch in time saves nine, but she's undoing sutures and my wounds keep multiplying at an alarming rate. If she shows me mercy, she'll become human in my eyes and all that means to me is another hem that I'm uncertain I can mend.

I have my work cut out for me and so little time. Why did Kenshin have to decide to start caring again? Why couldn't I have stopped?

He will be my unraveling. He will make me come undone. He has failed to save me because, in this unstable economy, prices go up, interest rates are a matter of life and death and there was an extraordinary boy a long time ago who once said to me that every life counts. He was staring up into space, something I couldn't hope to notice holding his gaze because all I could see was the boy – the painstakingly beautiful boy – who was, I realized then, too precious to go to waste.

So, I often catch myself wondering these days, what hurts the most? Letting go or holding on? I don't know the answer but I certainly don't intend to let that stop me. After all, I've never stopped caring and it's too late to start trying now. It's simply too late to call off the fight.

"Ready to play doctor yet, Megumi?"

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_**AN#2: **__Thank you for taking the time to read this. Please, if you feel up to it, review._

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_Reviewer responses:_

**To poems2songs: **Hi! So, yeah, Kaoru does seem pretty acceptant of her fate, but only because she isn't going down without a fight. Slightly cryptic, I know, but at least Megumi's role was finally revealed in this installment. As for Misao and Kenshin, they both love Kaoru too much to let her go that easily. You're right, they are good friends and I'm sure that as the story goes on they will prove that over and over, even if Kaoru seems ungrateful half of the time. Thank you very much for reading and reviewing. Every little comment is much appreciated!

**To silverwingedwitch: **You've made me blush! Thank you for the compliment. I too am a fan of pop culture references, to the point where I tend to overuse them. I hope there was a little more progress in this chapter; I would like to think I'm taking it slow, but steady. Keep on telling me what you think, please. Thanks again.

**To Dea Mariella:** Thank you for stopping by and putting your two cents in, Dea-chan. Long time no see, am I right? Yes, Kaoru did mention something about drawing up her will and, yes, that ought to at least be glossed over in the future, but it's not exactly integral to the plot or anything. As for Kaoru going to the restaurant with Kenshin… well, she's very strong willed but there's something about him that always makes her yield in the end, isn't there? At least, that's my perception of the effect these two seem to have on each other. Take care and see you again next update!

**To miniwoo: **Hello there! Seeing as you said you were so caught up in the affair, I feel like I have to apologize a little bit for not shedding more light on the subject in this update. A slight dose of plot advancement seemed important and, unfortunately, that left little to no room for touching on the K/K/T triangle. Thanks so much for the comments and for taking the time to read this small twist on our beloved characters.

**To WinterWing: **You know, in life, there is no such thing as an Ever After. That being said, I too hope that they can find a way to be happy.

**To Seelenspiel: **Thank you so much for reviewing! I'm glad that my versions of Kenshin and Kaoru – a little darker than I'm used to, as it were – are of your liking.

**To Anonymous: **In answer to your question, whoever you are, in the words of the Bard of Avon: "there is the rub".

**To Brukaoru: **Well, I do have to agree with you; part of the inspiration of this piece comes from the fact that we aren't all perfectly centered individuals and that it's hard to lose all sense of control. My current version of Kaoru is angry, depressed, determined and, above all else, human. She's dealing as best as she can. Thank you for your input; your opinion here always matters.


	7. Reflecting light

_STANDARD DISCLAIMERS APPLY_

**AN:** It's been a while. There's a lot going on in the world right now; my heart breaks for Tripoli. As I finish writing this piece, the TV's on in the background and what I'm hearing makes me feel so small and insignificant. It makes me want to be bigger, stronger, to reflect light in the darkest of hours. I know this site isn't a platform for political views, but what's happening right now should have nothing to do with politics or with the cost of oil; it's about people and the lives being lost and the world gazing on, cold and unmoved.

We write about people here, we project ourselves onto these characters and exorcise our demos through prose. We are the artists that need to give a voice to real human conflicts in the hopes that tyranny can at last be overcome. We take up our pens and dip them in a universe of fiction all in good fun, but every once in a while, we should brandish those same pens for a nobler cause. We need to find a way to make ourselves bigger and stronger, to write a true story of freedom for all mankind. Writers, stand up for oppression in any way that you can and make yourselves heard. The future is now and it's calling on us to save it.

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Musical inspiration:** "Where is my mind?" – _Maxence Cyrin _(_The Pixies_ piano cover)

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**Unapologetic**

_by Anna Iram_

**Chapter 7: Reflecting light**

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It's done. Megumi Takani, M.D., and I have reached an understanding. Because we're both unfortunate enough to be on familiar terms with the same man, we've joined forces and are now actively participating in the perpetuation of the same lie. Yay…

We sit in silence for a while. We have to be careful. We can't get caught.

The phone is ringing, ringing, ringing…

"Aren't you going to pick that up?"

Megumi glares at the telephone. She looks like she's trying to melt it with her heat vision. I wonder if she's aware that she's not a comic book character.

"Well?"

"What if it's him?" she asks, biting her lower lip. Since when is this woman insecure about anything? "He said he would call to find out how the appointment had gone. Well, more specifically, to confirm if you had actually _kept_ the appointment."

Wait, is she for real? She's a doctor, who has a secretary, who might be too busy with a patient to pick up the phone. Hell, everyone knows that when you call a doctor's office you don't get to talk with the white coat unless you've got a super-duper emergency on your hands, something really gross like, I don't know, a sudden onset of gangrene maybe? The point is that that's what the blasé brunette with bad extensions sitting behind the front desk is _for_: screening calls. Well, that and pissing off everyone who doesn't have a medical degree.

"If you don't pick up, I'm sure your secretary will urge whoever's on the other side of the line to leave a message or call again or something. That's standard protocol, right?"

Megumi's mouth sets into a hard line. "We're beyond protocol, Kenshin and I."

The phone has stopped ringing. We too remain silent.

I feel like someone just poured a bucket of ice cold water over my head. Did I hear that right? What does that even mean, that they're both 'beyond protocol'?

Suddenly, Megumi's hot pink, croco-style leather briefcase begins to vibrate. How come I hadn't noticed it before now? Granted, it's not like she keeps it on top of her desk, but it's so different from what I would have expected from her. It's just so Elle Woods, you know? And don't get me started on the BlackBerry she's pulling out from it… A zebra print silicone cover? Like, for real? Well, if _that_ doesn't say 'no-nonsense healthcare professional', then I don't know what the hell does.

"Good day, Kenny."

Oh, yippee, here we go. Is this how it's going to be now? Is he seriously not going to let me have a life from this point forward until my dying day? If that's the case, then I think _someone_ is in serious need of a reality check.

"Actually, your friend and I were just wrapping up."

Oh, for the love of…

No longer able to restrain myself, I snatch the smartphone away from Megumi's ear and speak into it, hoping to make myself perfectly clear. "I got here on time," I tell him, "I behaved. I let your magical unicorn doctor poke and prod and ask and extract. What the hell are you doing calling the woman's private number when I'm not even out the door?"

"Hello to you too, Kaoru," he says. He sounds like his usual cool-as-a-cucumber self, but there's something there, in his voice, an almost imperceptible edge of weariness. I don't like it. "I'm sorry, I must have miscalculated."

Back and forth, I shake my head, while petulantly stating, "Nu-uh, sell it to someone who's buying. The Kenshin Himura I know doesn't make a habit of miscalculating."

He sighs. "Sorry, I just…" He sighs again. He sounds…exhausted, almost. "Maybe I was a bit too eager. You're right, though, I should have waited at least until lunchtime to make the call. It's just… I could call." Abruptly, he lapses into silence, only I know he's not done. The anticipation nearly makes me fearful of what he will say next. "It's the _one_ thing I can do, Kaoru," he promptly declares and not a thin layer of regret coats his famous last words.

Oh, fuck my life.

I don't need this. I don't need him to stand his ground while admitting defeat and I certainly don't need guilt to hold my vocal chords hostage. Why does he do this to me? Why does he have to go and practically tell me that he feels powerless here?

I can't do this. I wanted to let Megumi off the hook a little. I wanted her to have a little more time to digest this before she went and started lying to his face, but you know what? Screw it; I'd rather it be her than me right now.

"I'm going to put the doctor back on the line, okay?"

Gentle. I hate that my voice sounds so damn gentle. And yet…what other choice is there? It's automatic: whenever he hits a true low, I become the softest, tamest creature the world has ever seen; that's just the way it's always been.

He sighs. "Yeah, okay. Thanks."

"Bye, then."

"Bye, Kaoru. Take care of yourself."

Not that I want to, but I smile, just a little. The whole 'take care' thing brings back memories. Good ones.

"You too, Kenshin."

I take a deep breath and I stretch my arm out towards Megumi. "Here," I say, dropping the phone into her upturned hand without meeting her eyes. She's got the strangest look on her face. Wonderment, maybe? I don't know, I don't care. I have to get out of here.

Without a backward glance, I storm out of the consultation room. My vision's blurry. I refuse to shed a single tear in front of that woman.

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We were friends once; or, at least, getting there. We were tentative, hesitant fingers.

"_See you tomorrow, Kaoru. Take care of yourself."_

We weren't friends, we decided, or, at least, we didn't know how to get back there. We were greedy mouths and sweaty palms. We were naked skin and eagerness.

"_I'm off. Take care, Kaoru. I'll see you tonight, right?"_

We were more than friends for a time. Then, there was no 'or' to consider. We were delicate caresses, delicate looks. We were happy hands and silly grins.

"_One more week until I get to see you again… You're taking good care of yourself, aren't you, beautiful?"_

We were strangers once; or, at least, struggling to get there. We were shuffling feet and shifty eyes. We no longer had lips made to kiss or bodies made to fit together perfectly. All we had left were hands made to wave.

"_Take care of yourself. See you around."_

Our fingers laced together for the first time. My cheeks caught fire.

Our tongues knew the taste of each other for the first time. My hands were cold.

"_Don't worry about me, Kaoru. I'm a big boy, I've got thick skin. I can take care of myself. Just worry about yourself, okay? I don't want you getting hurt. Just do what you have to do."_

Once, I met a thief who stole more than a pack of cigarettes from me. He was a man that set my soul ablaze without my blessing, who tried over and over to put his arm around my shoulders while, agitated, I struggled to wiggle out from under his protection. I've never believed in knights in shining armor coming to the rescue and I've never considered myself damsel-in-distress material anyway. I've never wanted rescuing.

"_Just do what you have to do."_

Once, there was a boy who set the world on fire. Sometimes I wish I had been there with him to watch it burn. Maybe then I could hope to understand why he leaves this girl behind, only to come back again, charging to the rescue. Maybe then I would finally be able to make sense out of why, very much despite myself, I lean out the window, let down my hair and invite him to climb up the tower.

Because, as good as it feels, letting him back in is the exact opposite of what I have to do. Honestly, I just don't want to hurt anymore.

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I ran past Misao. She shot out of her seat and I yelled over my shoulder that I didn't want to talk to her. I pushed the heavy glass door open and flung myself into the hallway. I didn't bother to press the elevator's call button; I couldn't wait, I needed air ASAP. I rushed down the stairs instead, Misao hot on my heels.

"Wait, Kaoru! Calm down!"

There was no time to spare on waiting and keeping calm was definitely beyond me at that point. I swear, she can be unbelievably stupid sometimes, that girl!

"Kaoru, stop! Tell me what's wrong!"

Her breathing was labored. I was going at breakneck speed and she was wearing stilettos. The reasonable thing to do would have been to give up on my desperate dash for freedom so that she might avoid spraining her ankle or worse. The problem was, my legs knew only movement, understood only the importance of carrying me away from that place. The urgency I felt gave my feet wings. The desire to escape was bigger and perhaps pettier than a selfless act of compassion that would have made my friend rest easier, that would have allowed her to try and help me. So, I kept on running, wiping at my eyes and nose with the back of my hand because I couldn't stop the tears from falling, couldn't stop bending my knees and pushing forward. I just couldn't stop. I didn't know how to anymore and it was killing me.

"Kaoru, come on! What the hell's the _matter_ with you?"

Before I could make any sense of it, I had slowed down my pace. "Stop following me, Misao!" I cried. It took a great deal of effort to get the words out on account of the huge lump lodged in my throat. I stopped altogether and turned around to look up at her stricken face. She was standing on an intermediate landing, whereas I had already reached the ground floor. "You're suffocating me! You're all suffocating me and I can't do this right now! I can't! So _you_ stop! _You_ stop!"

In the silence that followed my teary outburst, Misao's eyes began to look suspiciously wet and, quite frankly, I couldn't bear it. I was having a hard enough time as it was dealing with my own heavy heart and the pitiful monster that had been unleashed by one measly phone call. I couldn't take care of us both.

Wordlessly, I turned my back on her and made for the metal door that led out to the entry lobby. The sound of her clicking heels did not echo my every footfall. I strode past the elevators, completely alone, and hated every second of it. I hated my weakness, myself, life, heaven and hell and everything in between. I passed in front of the registration desk with my head hung low, ignoring the stares of people sitting in uncomfortable chairs waiting their turn. Their turn to pay; their turn to hand in a form; their turn to be saved; their turn to die: life was one big fucking waiting room, wasn't it?

These were the thoughts going through my head when I marched out of the clinic. I was in a complete daze and hadn't the first clue what to do with myself. I still don't.

I've been walking without purpose or direction for the better part of a half hour now, my hands shoved in my pockets, my maxi shades hiding my reddened eyes from the blinding glare of the sunny world around me. I'm sweating. I don't know if it's because of the heat or because I'm still nervous and over-excited and not in a good way. In any case, if my mind were a bit clearer I would probably consider taking off my chalk stripe blazer, but the fact of the matter is I'm having trouble enough remaining upright. My knees are all wobbly and, damn it all to hell, I'm starting to get woozy over here. I think I'd better sit down.

For once the fortunate fool, there's a bus stop up ahead and it's of the roofed variety and, yes, I see it now through the glass, there's a muted yellow bench and there are no butts parked on it. Good. I don't want to deal with people right now, if I can help it. People ask questions and try to make small talk and I'm just in the most asocial of moods, you know? I'm a total nightmare at the moment, so leave your message after the beep, if you please.

All I want is to have a seat, or at least I thought I did. As it turns out, as soon as I find myself inside the steel and glass construction, I come to realize that I'm pretty close to passing out and so, instead of sitting on the bench, I stretch the length of my body over it. In other words, the back of my head is resting on a really hard surface, as is the rest of my frame up to about my waist, maybe a little lower. The fact remains that my knees are bent because my legs don't fit – shocking, I know – and it's, overall, a terribly uncomfortable position, but what other choice do I have? It's either this, or the floor, and that's way ickier.

You know, I take back what I said about not wanting other people around. I'm going to die, on a bench that's probably got a large collection of gum glued on its underside, cars whizzing past this lousy bus stop – the freaking site of my untimely demise – and I'm going to fucking do it solo. If my clothes looked rattier, I'm sure no one would be able to tell me apart from a hobo, which sucks, because I've worked really hard to avoid homelessness. I'm nearly through paying the mortgage on the house, for Pete's sake! What a fucking undignified way to go out.

My head's feeling as light as a feather and my eyelids are drooping, I think. To be fair, I'm not sure what's happening to me anymore, I can hardly understand anything other than the fact that I'm _this _close to losing consciousness. So it's faint or die, really. And, hell, the part of me that hasn't been sucked in by all the drama yet is pretty confident that I'm about to pass_ out_, not _away_. Still: a young woman, all alone and out cold? I may not actually be dying right now, but I'm certainly an open invitation to any predators out there. Kind of makes a girl wish she hadn't wigged out on Misao, huh?

Spots dance before my eyes. I hear a voice, but I can't make out what is being said. It sounds like a man, but the words, if they're words at all…

A floating head. I should be freaking out right about now because, holy shit, that's a floating head hovering over me, isn't it? Am I peering into the face of God? If I am, I swear, for a guy who's been around for ages, he looks hella young. Like twelve, thirteen tops. Huh. Well I'm officially stumped.

"…ady…up…can't belie…ppen to me!"

The head, it speaks. It sounds awfully whiny. Frankly, I wasn't expecting that from God. I figured millennia would bring with it ennui, not pubescent bellyaching. Then again, he clearly ages at a decreased rate.

"…lady…ingers…up?"

Oh, who am I kidding? I'm not dead and this isn't a personal savior of some sort materializing before me. This is just some punk ass kid who doesn't have the presence of mind to bring in an adult to square things out. Or comb his hair, for that matter. In any case, I need medical attention and if I could I would communicate as much to the boy, but I'm too weak and my voice is too small. Hopefully, he'll do the right thing.

What is the right thing, though? What is to be done for me, at this point?

Useless, it's all useless. Whether I bounce back or my pressure keeps dropping until it's too late, it's all the same isn't it? There's no escaping fate.

The boy speaks again and I find myself wanting to tell him to stop worrying, that this is how it's going to be from here on out, that I'm only going to keep getting worse until I fade away completely. He should relax. My life is not in his hands. My life's forfeit, no matter how much I resent the very thought. The next couple of months are going to be a testament to my… Oh, I don't know, okay? I have no idea what's going to happen, but I'm damn sure it's going to hurt and that it's going to be way worse than fainting at a bus stop. Sadly, this is just the tip of the iceberg.

I openly stare into the face suspended above mine, even though it's slightly out of focus. He has beautifully long and curled eyelashes for a boy. His almond-shaped eyes scream that he's scared. I try to raise my hand, but the appendage doesn't want to listen to me. I wish I could smooth my palm over his forehead; he shouldn't be feeling so out of sorts on account of little old me. No one should. Kenshin shouldn't.

His lips move, but I can't hear a word he says. His silhouette grows darker.

Kenshin, I wonder idly, shouldn't be feeling out of sorts for me. I'm not his for him to feel out of sorts over. Besides, if I _were_ his, I should be making him feel happy, not sad. All I ever wanted was to make him feel happy, to stand inside his shadows and reflect light. Why did they have to take that away from me? It would have been my only comfort. It would have been the right thing to do. It would have been right. It would have felt right, to be his. Funny, I've never wanted to belong to anyone, have I? Like a firefly in a jar, like a dog on a leash…

"Call Kenshin," I whisper, but I don't know that that's what I'm doing. My body is frozen and my head is spinning and I'm not in control and the boy above me looks distorted and confused and there's nothing but silence and the world is growing dimmer and it all fades to black, black, black…

Who turned the lights off?

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_**AN#2: **__Thank you for taking the time to read this. Please, if you feel up to it, review._

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_Reviewer responses:_

_***To anyone I could, I replied via PMs. Some of you, however, were not logged in when reviewing the story. For such cases, my replies can be found directly below these lines.***_

**To Andreya: **First off, thank you so much for reviewing. Second, thank you for believing in 180ºST as a fanfic it has been discontinued but, as a possible original work of fiction, I haven't abandoned it just yet. Regarding this particular fanfic, I was slightly nervous about portraying Kaoru in a different light, but the response to this other side of her seems to be positive, so I figure I'll just go with my gut and keep working on a more embittered version of the character. Sorry for not answering much if any plot-pertinent questions in this installment; I know I'm not being very nice with all the intrigue. Are you dying of suspense yet? Until next time!

**To JD:** As you can see, this fanfic hasn't been abandoned. It's not a top priority of mine, but I find pleasure in penning it out. Thanks for the short and sweet review.


	8. Bury the castle

_STANDARD DISCLAIMERS APPLY_

**AN:** While it's no secret that this fanfic is a side project, lately it's been taking up more space in my head than a side project should. Brace yourselves for choppy rhythm and little to no plot advancement. Happy End of the World!

**Musical inspiration:** "Where is my mind?" as covered by Maxence Cyrin and Sunday Girl, respectively. The Pixies rule!

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**Unapologetic**

_by Anna Iram_

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**Chapter 8: Bury the castle**

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Always, he has made me feel like we are the only two people in the room. It's nerve-wracking, but at the same time so incredibly flattering. That someone like him would look at someone like me and let the rest of the world blend into nothingness is as much a guilty pleasure as it is a mystery. What does he see, I wonder, when he looks at me? What is it that I can't see for myself? What am I missing?

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_She tugged at the hem of her skirt. It was stupid, she knew it was, but whenever she found herself in the same room with him she found herself reevaluating her fashion choices and, generally speaking, feeling uncomfortable in her own skin. _

_ Kaoru discretely let out a sigh and tried to focus on the handsome man standing in front of her, offering her a fluorescent cocktail with an umbrella in it. She thanked him, took a sip and smiled at him over the rim of her glass. The drink was sweet, fruity and she couldn't taste a drop of alcohol in it. Kaoru bit back another sigh; she could have used a little liquid courage. Unfortunately she wasn't of age yet and everyone at the party knew it, courtesy of her stupid cousin being his usual overprotective self. Honestly, sometimes she swore Sano still thought she was eight and wanted a pony for her birthday. _

_ "I heard that." Sanosuke draped an arm over her shoulders and, if she hadn't known any better she would have sworn her cheeks had caught fire. Had she said all of that out loud? "And you know what else, missy? If I could get that pony for you, I would, so stop making me out to be an ogre," he said, then dropped a sloppy kiss on her forehead. If he wasn't drunk, he was certainly getting there. _

_ Kaoru shoved him away and wiped her forehead with her free hand. Next to her, the man that had brought her the cocktail clasped in her other hand laughed. _

_ "I swear you're like a dog, Sano! You're always sniffing around for leftovers and slobbering over everything!" she complained._

_ At that moment, a beautiful, curvaceous redhead passed in front of the trio and Sano's eyes nearly fell out of their sockets. "Woof." Kaoru elbowed him in what should have been the ribs if he hadn't been so tall and she so short. "What? I'm supposed to be a dog, remember?"_

_ The man to her right whistled low and long and Kaoru rolled her eyes. Great, she was the meat in an idiot sandwich._

_ "Ain't she something, Katsu?" Sanosuke asked his childhood friend. It was plain as day that he was undressing the gorgeous stranger with his eyes. _

_ Katsuhiro shook his head. The resemblance was truly remarkable. "She's the fucking human equivalent of fucking Jessica Rabbit," he breathed out in awe._

_ "Oi, language," Sano warned, but the reprimand was halfhearted. It wasn't like his cousin hadn't heard it all before – she was related to him and, the way his mother told it, his first word had been 'dammit'; it didn't take a genius to do the math. _

_ As the two boys ogled away at a near perfect female specimen, Kaoru started feeling self-conscious again. Her wrap shirt dress had seemed just right on the rack. It had looked cute on her just before she left the house. But, as soon as she had stepped into the warehouse, all of that had changed. The hemline, she had realized, was too short and the style too 1940's to be trendy. She didn't have the long legs or confidence to pull off the look she had been going for and as result she kept glancing down at her watch wondering when the night would be over so Sanosuke could take her home. _

_ Kaoru stared down at her strappy sandals. All eyes were on the redhead in the black lace mini dress. She wondered what it was like, to be that beautiful, to command undivided attention without having to utter a single word. Katsuhiro had been right; the woman was one red dress short from being Jessica Rabbit come to life. _

_ Tugging at her skirt, Kaoru decided to go and find a drink with alcohol in it all on her own: there was no way she was going to get through what was left of the party without getting a little tipsy. She turned around, suddenly filled with a sense of purpose, and froze. Kenshin Himura was standing by an artsy lamp, nursing a drink and giving her one of several unreadable looks he had been throwing her way all night. Those piercing glances were part of the reason she was in such a hurry to go home; she had no idea what to make of them._

_ Her pulse sped up. Like a deer caught in the headlights, she could do nothing but watch as he casually strode in her direction, his eyes never once straying from her face. They had been playing a game of cat and mouse for what felt like hours and, apparently, it was time to see who had won._

_ One minute, Kenshin had been on the other side of the room and the next, they were standing in front of each other with hardly any space between them. To make matters worse, he wasn't talking._

_ Kaoru worried her bottom lip. She was at a complete loss and, oh, how she wished he would stop **staring** at her. Seriously, did she have food on her face, or something? "Did you see the va-va-voom girl?" she asked. She didn't know what else to say. She supposed she could have started with hello, but somehow, it felt wrong. "She's all anyone's talking about."_

_ Kenshin smiled down at her affectionately. "No," he softly replied, "I must have missed her."_

_ Kaoru blinked owlishly. How on Earth could he have missed her? If she had swung that way, then she would have been drooling alongside her cousin! _

"_There's no way you could have missed her." Kaoru craned her neck and pointed in the general direction the woman was standing. "Trust me; you would have to be blind not to see her." _

_Kenshin shrugged and said, "I guess something else must have caught my eye." _

_ Kaoru scoffed and turned her head back around. "I don't think that's possible," she said. "What else could possibly…?" Halfway through her question, she lost her voice. She lifted her chin and stared at him as if for the first time. The look he was giving her was one of infinite patience. _

_ "Kenshin, my man!" Sano bellowed, appearing seemingly out of nowhere and clapping the shorter man on the back. "Where have you been hiding all night?"_

_ Kaoru jumped and nearly spilled her drink. She had forgotten that her cousin was right behind her, only looking the other way. _

_ Kenshin smirked at her. "Who says I've been hiding?" he replied, though his words, she knew, were meant for her. And suddenly, it dawned on her: it had all been for her, hadn't it? He had been waiting the whole night for her to invite him over. There had never been anything wrong with her stupid dress!_

_ As was customary, Sanosuke wasted no time in stealing Kenshin away, but not before he shot one last look her way, one that suggested things between them weren't as black and white as she had originally believed._

_ Left to her own devices, Kaoru took a sip of her virgin cocktail and hid a pleased smile behind her glass._

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Never has he let me forget that we are bound, that if I push away he will find a way to pull me into him. That I take comfort in that terrifies me. I have wanted to put him behind me so many times and, I swear, some days I have come so very close to succeeding. But all it ever takes is a sneaked glance, a touch of his hand or a whispered promise and I'm back at the beginning, trying to piece together the puzzle that keeps me up almost every night. Why did he marry someone else? What is it that makes him deny there's electricity in the air one minute and surrender to it the next? What am I missing?

* * *

_He silently edged behind her and stood still. She didn't have to look over her shoulder to know he was there; somehow she always knew when it was him. _

_ "Are you enjoying yourself?" he asked her so damn politely she cringed. She was tired of playing games and a part of her feared that engaging him would lead to defeat. _

_ "Aren't you?" she coldly replied, nervously scanning the garden with troubled eyes. Her late mother's prized rosebush was bathed in moonlight, as comforting and familiar a sight as it had always been. It was the shadows, however, and anything that might be lurking in them that made her uneasy. That, and the man standing mere inches away from her – did the concept of personal space mean nothing to him?_

_ Kenshin chuckled. "You're mad at me," he commented. He sounded surprised and amused and wasn't that just lovely?_

_ "You should go back inside," she frostily suggested, folding her arms over her chest in a manner that clearly indicated she was done talking with him. _

_ "I suppose I could," he offhandedly remarked, brushing past her, "If I wanted to, that is." He propped his elbows against the railing, keeping his back to the yard, and smirked mischievously, almost dangerously. "But, Kaoru, why would I want to go back inside and fake enthusiasm over matters that don't interest me when I can stay here with you?"_

_ His eyes burned, she swore they did, otherwise why did she feel as if she had been thrown onto a pyre? He was like wildfire, what with his lingering glances and silver tongue constantly stoking what should have been embers. His hold on her was spreading, threatening to leave nothing in its wake but ashes. He thought he could consume her. He was wrong._

_ "It's just as boring out here as it is in there," she argued. "I have nothing interesting to say either."_

_ "Maybe so," he conceded, "but that's the least of it and you know it, otherwise you would be in there right now." Kenshin frowned at her and vaguely gestured towards the house. "You don't want to be a part of the show, you don't want to join the circus and, hey, I get it. In fact, what if I told you I didn't want to either?" Suddenly, his voice and manner softened. "Would you please believe me, Kaoru?"_

_ Kaoru hesitated. She hated when he did that, when he switched from being intense and arrogant to… being an actual person, with feelings and insecurities and anything and everything she, as a kindred spirit, could relate to. She wished he would just put his cards on the table and be done with it already. _

_ "Tell me something real," she practically pleaded, because she needed something from him other than… She just needed to know he was still in there somewhere._

_ He opened his arms, as if he had nothing to hide. "All you've ever had to do is ask," he said. He sounded achingly sincere. _

_ Kaoru took a step forward. "What do you want from me?" she whispered into the night, her eyes boring into his. She needed an answer, she needed to understand…_

_ Kenshin pressed a hand to her cheek. "Everything," he told her and, in that one word, there was truth, there was fire._

_ Kaoru's lip trembled and she shook her head. "You can't have everything, Kenshin. No one can."_

_ "Why not?" he asked, "Why can't I have you?" He sounded angry, hurt and desperate, which was exactly the way she had been feeling for months. "Tell my why I can't… Why, Kaoru?"_

_ His voice cracked and she found herself looking away. It wasn't fair. He didn't get to do this to her; as far as she was concerned he had already done more than enough._

_ "Because you're married now," she replied, taking a step back from him and the mistakes she had almost been willing to make. His hand fell away and she flinched; separation of any kind, on any level still hurt. "You've been drinking," she lied, for both their sakes._

_ "Is that right?" he asked, instantly adopting the cocky persona of the obnoxious charmer he had been ever since he had set foot in her father's house that night. It was clear, however, that his heart wasn't in it. She could see it in his eyes. "Is it a habit of yours to excuse any man's inappropriate advances?"_

_ "Only yours," she told him, refusing to play the game. They were alone, they didn't have to pretend; couldn't he see that?_

_ Kenshin hung his head, defeated. "Well you don't have to. I refuse."_

_ "Refuse?" Kaoru shook her head. He wasn't making any sense, not that there was anything unusual about that, was there? "Refuse what, Kenshin?"_

_ He pulled away from the railing. "I refuse to apologize to you or anyone, Kaoru." _

_Again he brushed past her and headed for the open French doors. He stopped and took a moment to silently observe the people gathered in the living room. There wasn't a soul in there that he wanted to make nice with. _

_Kenshin stuffed his hands in his pockets and cast one final look at Kaoru from over his shoulder. Her hair was up in a bun and her back was bare. After everything they had been through, it seemed she still wouldn't see him off. How typical. _

_He smiled softly, precisely because she wouldn't notice it, because it was clear that she refused to see what was staring them both in the face. "You're the one thing I could never regret, or haven't you figured that out yet?" _

_ It took a moment for the words to sink in. Kaoru spun around, hands shaking and heart racing. There was so much she wanted to say to him! But, the back porch was empty, he had already stepped inside, was already being waved over by a middle-aged couple standing by a piano whose keys had only ever known the touch of her mother's fingers. _

_Once more, Kenshin had gone off to join the circus. Once more, she had been left behind, alone and in the dark._

* * *

The pungent smell of antiseptics hits my nose hard. I open my eyes and immediately wish I hadn't because the light in this place is simply too bright to bear.

"Oh good, you're finally up!"

Right, I'm up. As opposed to when I was down? And shouldn't whoever's talking be doing something more productive like, say, dim the lights?

"Don't you mind, sweetheart, everything's fine. I'll just go get the doctor for you, alright?"

Alright, fine by me as long as you turn off the lights on your way out. Except… what was that about a doctor, again? Before I can think about it, I'm sitting up on my elbows and furiously blinking at a woman wearing maroon… Oh, hell no! Are those scrubs?

"The doctor?" I hear myself ask. My voice sounds raspy and I don't need to be faced with a mirror to know that I probably look like I'm panicking. Of course, that would only make perfect sense since, newsflash: I _am_ panicking! Just where the hell am I and why is a doctor going to come in to see me?

The nurse, who is halfway to the door – no, wait, it's a curtain – stops and smiles reassuringly at me. "You fainted and were rushed to the ER," she calmly explains. "Don't you worry your pretty little head, though; from the looks of it you were just dehydrated." She looks down at the chart clutched to her chest and nods at herself. "In any case, the doctor will be in to see you in just a minute and he'll explain everything."

"I fainted?" I ask and my voice sounds so fucking small I want to punch myself.

"I'll tell your husband you're awake," she says, tugging the curtain open.

Alarm bells go off in my head. "My _husband_?"

The nurse forces herself to smile at me one more time, but it's obvious she's itching to go and do her job somewhere else, possibly in another cubicle with a patient who is slightly more aware of their situation than me. "Yes," she replies, "I think he stepped out a moment to thank the boy that found you and brought you in. He'll be happy to hear you're awake."

The swish of the curtain drawing closed makes me gnash my teeth. I'm single. I'm single, right? I don't know why I'm looking at my hand to confirm this because, dammit, I know I'm single!

Great, I'm in a hospital, my arm's hooked to an IV drip and, on top of that, according to the nurse, I have a husband I knew nothing about up until this very moment. I guess it's time to fall back against the pillows and pretend none of this is happening.

The mattress is hard and my head might as well be stacked under a book. I close my eyes, just for a second. I try to relax my breathing because the last thing I need at this point is to surrender to the fear that's rattling against my ribcage and dying to claw its way out of my throat in the form of rasping sobs.

The curtain swishes open. Someone walks in. I can hear their footsteps but I'm afraid to open my eyes; something tells me I'm not going to like what I see.

"How are you feeling?"

And there it is. That right there is exactly what I was afraid of. I won't cry. I won't cry. I swear to God Almighty, I won't cry!

Just because he's here doesn't mean the waterworks automatically have to turn on, right? After all, it's not like I'm a sprinkler system and, besides, what harm could his being here possibly do? I'm already in the hospital; it doesn't get any worse than this.

I crack my eyes open, but he's not looming over me like I had half-expected. "Woozy," I answer truthfully, pushing myself onto my elbows to better seek him out. As it turns out, he's standing at the foot of the bed. "I'm confused too. I take it you're my husband?"

He offers me a humorless, bitter smile. "It was a logical assumption to make, one I saw no point in denying." He shrugs and shoves his hands in his pockets. "Hospitals have policies that aren't always the most convenient."

So it's a matter of convenience that has spurred this mix up, then. As a rule doctors only discuss patients with immediate family, meaning Kenshin's decision was a wise one. Pretending to be married to me, it was practical.

"That makes sense, I guess." Only, as much as it makes sense, it doesn't. Pretending to be married to me is, above all else, cruel. From the way Kenshin keeps avoiding my gaze, it's evident he think so too. "How did you find me, anyway? How long was I out?"

Kenshin's eyes widen. It's as though he wasn't expecting that question which, in my opinion, is kind of stupid – it was the first of two things that immediately came to mind when I heard his voice a few seconds ago.

"You asked for me." He clears his throat and stares in seeming fascination at some random point behind me. "Don't you remember?" he slowly asks me in a disarmingly gentler tone.

Working around the sudden lump in my throat, the word is hard to get out. "No." It's the truth. Does it sound as disappointing to his ears as it does to mine?

Again, he clears his throat. "The boy who found you, he claims you said my name before passing out. He said it sounded like you wanted him to call me," he takes to explaining in a perfectly straightforward manner. He's looking at me, but I might as well be anyone or anything else. Whatever he's seeing, it's not me. "After calling the paramedics, he took your cellphone out of your purse, scrolled through your contacts and found the only Kenshin on the list. He called me from the ambulance."

I nod dumbly. I don't have anything to say. I mean, yes, there are a million different things that I always want to say to him, that I want to ask, but right now is not a good time. My head sits too heavily on my shoulders.

The curtain slides open and the doctor walks in. He doesn't spare a glance at either one of us, his attention consumed by the information on the chart in his hands. There's tension in the air but he's either oblivious to it or simply doesn't care. "Kamiya Kaoru," he states, reading my name off the page, "You presented to the ER unconscious and hypotensive." He rolls a swivel stool from the corner of the room to the side of the bed and sits. "It says here you fainted at a bus stop. Do you recall fainting?"

"Vaguely, yeah."

"What did you feel exactly before passing out? Did you experience any chest pains?"

"Uh, no, just… dizziness, mostly." I make an effort to go back in time and relive the moments before the blackout. A part of me recognizes it should be easier. "I started feeling hot – too hot – and then I started feeling weak. Then my brain went all loopy, I experienced tunnel vision and that's that."

The doctor nods, looks at me once and then back down at my chart. "Well, your CBC indicates you're anemic, but when your husband arrived he informed the staff of your medical condition. He was quite… vocal about it." His gaze briefly flickers to Kenshin who seems to find the wall deeply fascinating. Huh. Curiouser and curiouser. "This is not entirely unexpected for a cancer patient," the doctor prattles on. "The causes can range from the type of treatment, to a vitamin or mineral deficiency or it can even be the cancer itself. In any case, bringing your hemoglobin levels back up is important and so is consulting your treating physician."

"How do we bring my hemoglobin levels back up?" Honestly, I don't even know why I'm asking. It's pointless, all of it. Still, I don't want to be fainting left and right. "Is there something simple I can do, by myself I mean?"

The doctor smiles and I suddenly realize how young he must be. No wonder his communication skills kind of suck; I'm probably his first live patient! He's clearly fresh out of med school; clinical jargon is all he knows. The man didn't even introduce himself, for crying out loud!

"Well, again, the thing to do is talk with your doctor. You need further tests." He points up at the IV bag that's slowly emptying itself into my veins. "We're only treating you for dehydration. What were you doing when the episode occurred? Were you under physical stress?"

"No." Is that a lie? "Well, not exactly. I was walking. I had been running and then I started walking. And then I started feeling faint."

"She had some tests done this morning," Kenshin intervenes. "She ran out of the clinic. She was upset."

Megumi, that damn gossip! I can't believe she told on me!

"Ah, well that probably explains it," the young, good-looking medical practitioner comments, oblivious to the storm clouds gathering above my head. Either that or, again, he just doesn't give a shit. "What did you eat for breakfast this morning?" he asks me.

"I didn't eat breakfast." Duh. "You're not supposed to on the day of a blood test." Double duh.

"Did you eat or drink anything afterwards?"

I really want to say I did, just so I can wipe that smug look from his face, but the guy hit the nail on the head, didn't he? "You caught me."

The doctor pinches the bridge of his nose as if exasperated with me. He probably is and I kind of deserve that he's making me feel like a wayward child; after all, I didn't think to eat. I'm kind of an idiot.

"You've got to take better care of yourself," he admonishes me. "You have to eat plenty of fruits, nuts and other nutrient-rich foods and drink plenty of water. Try not to skip meals unless you absolutely feel like you have to, okay?" He stands up and faces Kenshin. "Make sure she eats after tests. I'm sure you don't want a repeat of today."

"No, I most certainly don't," Kenshin agrees and, I swear, I've never seen him look so uncomfortable before.

The doctor places his hand on Kenshin's shoulder. "Once the bag's empty, you can take your wife home. I've already signed the release form."

Kenshin nods wordlessly and the white coat nods back. A silent understanding passes between the two men, one that I'm not privy to.

The blue curtain swishes open, then closed. Kenshin and I are alone again and I'm terrified. He's standing in the middle of the room with his arms crossed, wearing an expression on his face that I can't identify. Is it disappointment? Anger?

"Sit down," I find myself suggesting, gesturing at the empty stool by the bed. For a lack of nothing else to say, I suppose that'll work.

Kenshin doesn't move. I can hear him breathe. I can hear myself breathe. I can hear my heart beating excessively loud. Can he hear it too? Can he decode the thumps and translate them into the grinding of cracks desperately trying to fit together again?

"You scared me today."

It's a fragile little thing, the heart. It's a machine constantly being taken to its limits. How it breaks and breaks and keeps on going and going… It's a peculiar little thing, the heart. Mine is more resilient than I have ever given it credit for.

Oh, my love… Oh, my love… Oh, my love…

Kenshin takes a deep breath. "I'm going to get coffee. I'll be back in a minute."

Don't. Don't leave. Don't go get coffee. Don't pretend.

I'm nodding. "Okay," I'm saying. His back, I'm staring at it. The curtain, it's making that metallic noise again. The blue fabric, it's rustling. The man I don't want to love anymore, he's leaving. He's leaving me. Because I am never going to be a wife and he is already a husband and that's bad math.

Before coming to in this sterile room and after passing out at a bus stop, I dreamt that there was a time, there was a place and there were things I wanted. Small things. Big things. Things for myself. Things for him. Things for us. Things I still want and can't have.

"_Why can't I have you?"_

Not a day goes by that I don't hear that question echoing inside my head. He was the one to say it first, I know, but somewhere down the line, the words become mine too.

"I was scared too," I can hear myself saying, but what's the point of talking to an empty room? What's the point of dreaming of how our lives used to be? What am I missing?

I lay down flat on the bed and lift my hands up to the light. I count each finger – one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten – and it's not there and this is stupid because it's never going to be there! I will never know the slight weight of or the cool kiss of a wedding band against my skin.

My hands clench into fists. "I was scared too."

Give a young girl a castle. Give her a glass slipper and a gilded carriage pulled by wild horses. Give her all she's ever dreamed of. Give her heated stares and silent promises. Give her something to dream about and then… hand her a shovel.

Tell her to bury it, to bury the castle, because its walls were made of sand. Tell her to smash it, to smash the glass slipper because it was never hers to keep. Tell her all good things come to an end but, most importantly, tell her it's against the rules to play for keeps.

My fists unclench. "It was a nice dream, though, wasn't it?" I splay my hands and wave them at the ceiling. Hello, goodbye.

* * *

_**AN#2: **Thank you for taking the time to read this. Please, if you feel up to it, review._


	9. Blame Name

_STANDARD DISCLAIMERS APPLY_

**AN:** The opening scene was tough to write. I don't really know what it was about it. I guess I had this idea and it played out a little stiffly, took on a different direction than I had intended. If anyone's still reading this story after all this time, sorry for the long wait. Please share your thoughts.

**Musical inspiration:** "It's time" by _Imagine Dragons_ and "Be Still" by _The Fray_.

* * *

**Unapologetic**

_by Anna Iram_

**Chapter 9: Blame / Name**

* * *

He sits at the bar, nursing a drink. The minutes slowly tick by and condensation forms on the outside of the glass. His palm grows moist.

The game's on mute on a flat screen above the bartender's head. He doesn't care who wins, he tells himself it's all the same. He's had a bad day and he doesn't know how to rise above it.

"I'll have a Stella," a man calls out to the bartender.

He offers up a wan smirk. He's been expecting the owner of that familiar voice for some time now. The legs of a bar stool loudly drag against the floor and suddenly the seat to his left is no longer empty.

"You're late," Kenshin says.

Beside him, Sagara Sanosuke shrugs the accusation off like he does most everything. Punctuality isn't his best quality and he's used to reprimands. "That sure didn't stop you from starting the pity party early, now did it?" he glibly asks the redhead.

Kenshin acknowledges the words with a grim smile. The bottle of twelve-year-old Scotch parked next to his glass is already half empty. His hyperactive mind, on the other hand, is teeming with unwelcome thoughts, conjuring scenarios and what ifs that seemingly no amount of alcohol can drown out.

The bartender sets Sano's order in front of him and rushes off to deal with another regular. "Watered-down Scotch, that's what you're having?" He wrinkles his nose and brings the uncapped bottle of Belgian beer to his lips. "What's that about?" he inquires before taking a sip. He appears to be genuinely curious.

Kenshin lifts his shoulders slightly. "Variation on a theme," he vaguely replies.

Sano dubiously eyes his friend. "If you want variety, you don't buy the whole damn bottle."

Kenshin raises his glass and listlessly stares at it. The ice, he notes, has almost completely melted. "You're right," he quietly agrees, "A sudden craving for variety isn't the reason a man unaccompanied buys a bottle of Scotch at a bar."

Sanosuke hangs his head and chuckles. "Hey, at least it's not brown-bagged," he kindly points out. "Whatever it is, it can't be that bad."

Kenshin slams the glass down on the bar and shakily breathes out, "It's your cousin."

At the mention of those three words, Sanosuke immediately tenses up. The history between the man sitting next to him and his cousin Kaoru is long and complicated. Whatever's happened now, he's not exactly sure he wants to know.

"I sucker punched you at your engagement party, man!" he loudly reminds Kenshin. Slipping a finger into the neck of his bottle, Sano takes a deep breath. "Look," he says, "you're my best friend, but that line's been drawn. You and me, we don't talk about Kaoru."

"Allow me to rephrase, then." Kenshin levels the younger man with a piercing stare. "It's about your uncle."

Sanosuke feels his blood run cold. "What about him?" he asks with baited breath.

"I'm not exactly sure yet. That's why I called you."

"Oka-a-ay," Sanosuke drawls out. The puzzled look that's stolen across Kenshin's face instantly puts him on edge. "What about Kaoru, then?"

Kenshin sighs. "Someone was following her today."

Alarm bells go off in Sano's head. "Why? Why would anyone be following her?"

"It was just a boy. Completely harmless, from the looks of it."

"No," Sano denies, shaking his head, "you wouldn't have called me over some kid. You wouldn't be drinking over some kid." He exhales hard, his face drawn. "You got a name for me?"

Kenshin nods once. "Myōjin Yahiko," he states, his voice cold, his eyes troubled.

Sanosuke fishes around his pocket for some loose change, slaps a couple of crumpled up bills onto the bar and shoots off his stool. "I'm on it," he says. He means it too. Finding out everything there is to know about the boy behind the name has just become his number one priority.

"Hey, Sano," Kenshin quietly calls after him.

Sanosuke turns around and frowns at Kenshin's back. "What?"

After a beat of silence, Kenshin speaks. "You should really visit your cousin one of these days."

The suggestion confuses Sanosuke more than he cares to admit. He doesn't want to think that there's something else behind the words, but isn't that always the case with Kenshin?

Choosing to err on the side of caution for a change, Sanosuke wordlessly hurries out of the bar, an inexplicable sense of unease shadowing him all the way to his car. He doesn't need to ask questions to know that things are about to get nasty, his gut tells him so. His gut is never wrong.

* * *

The room is seemingly empty, the curtains are drawn and the bed is unmade.

Kenshin emerges from the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist, his bare feet sinking into the plush carpet. He forgot to pack a pair of flip flops. He finds that he is profoundly displeased; forgetting denotes distraction and he is not one to lose focus. It is one of the many things he cannot afford: distraction leads to carelessness, a definite hazard in the workplace.

Thoughtlessly sidestepping the dead body lying face-down by the minibar, Kenshin reaches for his jacket, innocently hanging on the back of an armchair, and retrieves a lighter from one of its pockets. He takes a seat and wearily examines the small item he now holds between his thumb and forefinger. It was a gift, a token of affection freely given to him by a young girl whose mere existence had set his heart alight. He had thought himself numb back then, but she had proven to be warmer than the thickest blanket and, unable to resist, he had tangled himself in her sheets. He had made a mess of their lives, had burned every bridge. From tall flames to ashes, blissful distraction had paved the way to silent despair.

The taciturn redhead closes his eyes and dares to remember.

Like a thief, he had stolen from her all she had to give. She was welcoming and he had wanted a home; she had been an open book and he an avid reader. Everything she offered, he unapologetically pounced upon, all the while craving more. He was a hungry lion, never satisfied. He had never know such undemanding kindness, had not understood the fragile nature of the creature he stalked without mercy or shame.

Kenshin's eyes snap open. He flicks the lighter and gazes intently at the blue flame. He tries so hard, but in the end what does he know about saving a life?

* * *

She shuts the blinds. Business hours are over, but that has never stopped her before. It is easier, she finds, to stay behind at the practice, buried up to her eyeballs in paperwork, than to go back to her apartment. Cooking, cleaning, ironing, showering: these are all activities that allow her mind to wander and if there is one thing that she cannot have, it is time to think beyond the here and now. She would misuse the minutes and hours contemplating why she's not brave enough to take her own life.

Her heels click against the cold tile floor, her hips swaying back and forth because she knows no other way to walk if not with purpose. She takes a seat behind her desk and opens up a random file stacked on top of it. A photograph of a random patient stares back at her along with a medical history that reveals nothing extraordinary and she finds herself thinking what a blessing it must be to not stand out, to be hale and whole and ordinary. Perhaps, if she had not sold her soul to the devil all those years ago, she could be like other doctors who, blinded by ambition and scientific curiosity, eagerly wait for a special case to show up and lie back on their exam table. Perhaps she too would dream of writing papers and getting published in premier medical journals.

With a steady hand and a heavy heart, Megumi picks up another file, the contents of which she knows all too well. This one file, it keeps her up at night. It is the reason she can't go home, not just yet. It is what keeps her from being brave and pressures her into acting foolishly.

She looks down at her own handwriting and sighs. She's playing a very dangerous game with incredibly high stakes. Her research may never see the light of day, but what drives her is not the promise of accolades, it is a very human sense of guilt. The crushing weight of her sins is one that cannot be cooked, ironed or washed away. Megumi accepts that her actions have consequences and those, in turn, make her liable for damages. And she, she is a doctor. She mends, she stitches, she sets; she does not believe in damage without attempting repair.

The phone rings, startling her. She hesitates before picking up.

"Hello?" she breathes into the receiver.

"Babe, you sound tired. I'm coming to get you."

Her shoulders relax. It's just her boyfriend calling to steal her away from the mess she's in. She's grateful for him and the things he doesn't know about her.

"Would it make a difference if I told you not to?" she asks, sounding defiant, her voice showing none of the fear she feels whenever she is alone at the practice, toiling away for a chance at redemption. He doesn't need to know she's afraid, not when he does his best to make her feel safe.

"Not a damn bit," he cheekily replies before hanging up.

Megumi slips the handheld device back in its cradle and turns her attention back to the papers she has spread out on her desk.

Her boyfriend, she recalls, likes to say that there's not a problem that can't be solved. Her boyfriend, she decides, has never in his life been caught between a rock and a hard place.

* * *

Kaoru sits in front of the mirror and runs a comb through her damp hair. It's knotted and tangled and, is it any wonder, when the strands have grown so thin?

She sighs, frustrated. She has always been proud of her hair, has kept it long since as far back as she can remember. Her hair and her eyes are the only physical traits she has inherited from her mother, the waifish woman smiling softly in a photograph standing guard on her bedside table.

The comb snags on another knot and this time, Kaoru growls and flings the toothed piece of plastic across the room. She buries her face in her hands and lets out a cross between a howl and a whimper. It is the sound a wounded animal makes. Her beautiful hair – her mother's lustrous, cascading raven hair – is now dry, dull and frizzy.

Kaoru cries into her open palms, an acute and irrepressible sense of loss washing over her. Her shoulders shudder as she frantically gasps for air between loud, mournful sobs. She is grieving for a future that no longer shines like her hair once did. She weeps out of anger, because up until this very moment, she had no idea she was so vain.

Shakily prying her hands away from her face, she lifts her chin and forces herself to look up at her reflection. There's no point in having waist-length hair if it's in such bad shape. There's no point in holding on to notions of vanity, she tells herself, when you look less like a model on the cover of _Fitness_ magazine and more like Tim Burton's Corpse Bride.

Steeling her resolve, Kaoru stares herself down and reaches out her right hand. While in the shower, she made a decision. She grits her teeth because it hurts her ego, it pains her heart, but she has never been one for stalling. Curling her fingers around the handles opposite the pivot, she keeps her eyes fixed on her snotty, tear streaked face and nods. It's go time.

Kaoru snaps her eyes shut and takes a deep breath. However, the second she raises the cutting instrument up and off the table, a soft hand gently presses it back down. Bewildered, she blinks and stares into the mirror. Her shoulders sag, her resolve gone.

Wordlessly, Misao slips the sharp pair of scissors out of her best friend's hand and takes the burden of cutting her hair upon herself.

"Be still," she whispers.

Kaoru silently looks on as, showing the utmost care, Misao mercilessly snips off far more than just split ends. Long, loose strands of once rich hair fall down at her feet. Tears slowly roll down her cheeks, but she doesn't flinch. For the first time in what feels like ages, Kaoru is still.

* * *

Pride, ego and arrogance: they had started it all. Grief – maddening, overpowering, blinding – pushed him over the edge. If blame was to be assigned, then Dr. Kamiya Koshijirou had incurred in what could be construed as both a terrible lapse in judgment and a bold undertaking whose end result could, in fact, alter the course of human history.

At first, he theorized, like most did. He published equations. He experimented, his pursuit of knowledge frequently meeting with walls and blockades; but unlike most, his resolve never wavered. The end result was every bit as rewarding as it was ominous: what he saw as a gift to mankind, he slowly began to realize, others would utilize as a weapon. He had unthinkingly facilitated the development of a new means of destruction fit for the technological age, perfectly suited for covert operations.

A smart man may believe that something is best hidden in plain sight and that enemies are to be kept ever so close. This approach may work, for a time. Unfortunately, time always runs out.

* * *

Yahiko is scared but he will not show it. He may be young and his parents may be nothing more than a distant memory but he is certain that he was not raised to cower in fear. In the face of death, his mother and father did not flinch. Faced with a lifetime of uncertainty, he swears to do the same.

"Are you certain that was his name?"

One day, he dreams, he will get to be his own person. Someday he will break free. Meanwhile, he answers questions: some that make sense, others that don't and a couple that intrigue him. He considers himself a detective of sorts and as such, he conducts his own investigations on the side. He too seeks answers.

"Describe him again. You mentioned a scar?"

It is strange to think that a life on the streets does not afford freedom. Yet, strange though it may seem, he is but a feral dog on a leash. He is without owner and without home, but the boy is not without a jailer. If he comes and goes at will, if he chooses to disappear into the night, he knows he will be found by hands ungentle and unclean.

"Idiot boy! Why didn't you take her phone? It was literally in your hands!"

Yahiko yearns for nothing more than to bite the hand that feeds him and survive the fallout. And his jailer's face as he tells the same story for the millionth time gives him hope that day is coming sooner rather than later. As he speaks, as they hang onto his every word like never before, he sees the usual cruelty and violent excitement that sends shivers down his spine. But, lurking in eyes always cold and dangerous, for the first time he also sees fear.

"And you are absolutely sure that was his name? The one she called out, the one on her phone?"

Of course he is sure. It is a name he will never forget; especially not know that he knows it can stir the waters. Finally he feels he might have leverage. Himura Kenshin: two words combined that suddenly sound like a passport to a better life.

* * *

_**AN#2: **__Thank you for taking the time to read this. Please, if you feel up to it, review._


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